HOMEABOUTCORPUS

loo

Shakespearean Definition:

[Definition will go here]

Frequency: 6

Here are all of the speeches where loo shows up across the corpus:

Antony and Cleopatra


Nay , but this dotage of our general’s
O’erflows the measure . Those his goodly eyes ,
That o’er the files and musters of the war
Have glowed like plated Mars , now bend , now turn
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front . His captain’s heart ,
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
The buckles on his breast , reneges all temper
And is become the bellows and the fan
To cool a gypsy’s lust .



Look where they come .
Take but good note , and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world transformed
Into a strumpet’s fool . Behold and see .

Antony and Cleopatra

Perchance ? Nay , and most like .
You must not stay here longer ; your dismission
Is come from Caesar . Therefore hear it , Antony .
Where’s Fulvia’s process ? Caesar’s , I would say —
both ?
Call in the messengers . As I am Egypt’s queen ,
Thou blushest , Antony , and that blood of thine
Is Caesar’s homager ; else so thy cheek pays shame
When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds . The messengers !

Antony and Cleopatra

Amen , dear goddess , hear that prayer of the
people . For , as it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome
man loose-wived , so it is a deadly sorrow to
behold a foul knave uncuckolded . Therefore , dear
Isis , keep decorum and fortune him accordingly .

Antony and Cleopatra


We will not look upon him . Go with us .

Antony and Cleopatra


No more light answers . Let our officers
Have notice what we purpose . I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the Queen
And get her leave to part . For not alone
The death of Fulvia , with more urgent touches ,
Do strongly speak to us , but the letters too
Of many our contriving friends in Rome
Petition us at home . Sextus Pompeius
Hath given the dare to Caesar and commands
The empire of the sea . Our slippery people ,
Whose love is never linked to the deserver
Till his deserts are past , begin to throw
Pompey the Great and all his dignities
Upon his son , who — high in name and power ,
Higher than both in blood and life — stands up
For the main soldier ; whose quality , going on ,
The sides o’ th’ world may danger . Much is
breeding
Which , like the courser’s hair , hath yet but life
And not a serpent’s poison . Say our pleasure ,
To such whose place is under us , requires
Our quick remove from hence .

Antony and Cleopatra

She’s dead , my queen .
Look here , and at thy sovereign leisure read
The garboils she awaked ; at the last , best ,
See when and where she died .

Antony and Cleopatra

So Fulvia told me .
I prithee turn aside and weep for her ,
Then bid adieu to me , and say the tears
Belong to Egypt . Good now , play one scene
Of excellent dissembling , and let it look
Like perfect honor .

Antony and Cleopatra

You’ll heat my blood . No more !

Antony and Cleopatra

And target . Still he mends .
But this is not the best . Look , prithee , Charmian ,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe .

Antony and Cleopatra

Caesar , I bring thee word
Menecrates and Menas , famous pirates ,
Makes the sea serve them , which they ear and
wound
With keels of every kind . Many hot inroads
They make in Italy — the borders maritime
Lack blood to think on ’t — and flush youth revolt .
No vessel can peep forth but ’tis as soon
Taken as seen , for Pompey’s name strikes more
Than could his war resisted .

Antony and Cleopatra

Antony ,
Leave thy lascivious wassails . When thou once
Was beaten from Modena , where thou slew’st
Hirsius and Pansa , consuls , at thy heel
Did famine follow , whom thou fought’st against ,
Though daintily brought up , with patience more
Than savages could suffer . Thou didst drink
The stale of horses and the gilded puddle
Which beasts would cough at . Thy palate then did
deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge .
Yea , like the stag when snow the pasture sheets ,
The barks of trees thou browsèd . On the Alps
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh
Which some did die to look on . And all this —
It wounds thine honor that I speak it now —
Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek
So much as lanked not .

Antony and Cleopatra

O , Charmian ,
Where think’st thou he is now ? Stands he , or sits he ?
Or does he walk ? Or is he on his horse ?
O happy horse , to bear the weight of Antony !
Do bravely , horse , for wot’st thou whom thou
mov’st ?
The demi-Atlas of this Earth earth , the arm
And burgonet of men . He’s speaking now ,
Or murmuring Where’s my serpent of old Nile ?
For so he calls me . Now I feed myself
With most delicious poison . Think on me
That am with Phoebus’ amorous pinches black ,
And wrinkled deep in time ? Broad-fronted Caesar ,
When thou wast here above the ground , I was
A morsel for a monarch . And great Pompey
Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow ;
There would he anchor his aspect , and die
With looking on his life .

Antony and Cleopatra


O , well-divided disposition ! — Note him ,
Note him , good Charmian , ’tis the man ! But note
him :
He was not sad , for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his ; he was not merry ,
Which seemed to tell them his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy ; but between both .
O , heavenly mingle ! — Be’st thou sad or merry ,
The violence of either thee becomes ,
So does it no man’s else . — Met’st thou my posts ?

Antony and Cleopatra


By Isis , I will give thee bloody teeth
If thou with Caesar paragon again
My man of men .

Antony and Cleopatra

My salad days ,
When I was green in judgment , cold in blood ,
To say as I said then . But come , away ,
Get me ink and paper .
He shall have every day a several greeting ,
Or I’ll unpeople Egypt .

Antony and Cleopatra


He dreams . I know they are in Rome together ,
Looking for Antony . But all the charms of love ,
Salt Cleopatra , soften thy wanned lip !
Let witchcraft join with beauty , lust with both ;
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts ;
Keep his brain fuming . Epicurean cooks
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite ,
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honor
Even till a Lethe’d dullness —



How now , Varrius ?

Antony and Cleopatra

I shall entreat him
To answer like himself . If Caesar move him ,
Let Antony look over Caesar’s head
And speak as loud as Mars . By Jupiter ,
Were I the wearer of Antonio’s beard ,
I would not shave ’t today .

Antony and Cleopatra

You’ve said , sir . We looked not for Mark Antony
here . Pray you , is he married to Cleopatra ?

Antony and Cleopatra

Noble Ventidius ,
Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm ,
The fugitive Parthians follow . Spur through Media ,
Mesopotamia , and the shelters whither
The routed fly . So thy grand captain , Antony ,
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots and
Put garlands on thy head .

Antony and Cleopatra


Sir , look well to my husband’s house , and —

Antony and Cleopatra

Come , sir , come ,
I’ll wrestle with you in my strength of love .
Look , here I have you , thus I let you go ,
And give you to the gods .

Antony and Cleopatra

Good Majesty ,
Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you
But when you are well pleased .

Antony and Cleopatra

Madam , in Rome .
I looked her in the face and saw her led
Between her brother and Mark Antony .

Antony and Cleopatra


I think so , Charmian : dull of tongue , and
dwarfish ! —
What majesty is in her gait ? Remember ,
If e’er thou looked’st on majesty .

Antony and Cleopatra

She once being loofed ,
The noble ruin of her magic , Antony ,
Claps on his sea-wing and , like a doting mallard ,
Leaving the fight in height , flies after her .
I never saw an action of such shame .
Experience , manhood , honor ne’er before
Did violate so itself .

Antony and Cleopatra


I have fled myself and have instructed cowards
To run and show their shoulders . Friends , begone .
I have myself resolved upon a course
Which has no need of you . Begone .
My treasure’s in the harbor ; take it . O ,
I followed that I blush to look upon !
My very hairs do mutiny , for the white
Reprove the brown for rashness , and they them
For fear and doting . Friends , begone . You shall
Have letters from me to some friends that will
Sweep your way for you . Pray you look not sad ,
Nor make replies of loathness . Take the hint
Which my despair proclaims . Let that be left
Which leaves itself . To the seaside straightway !
I will possess you of that ship and treasure .
Leave me , I pray , a little — pray you , now ,
Nay , do so — for indeed I have lost command .
Therefore I pray you — I’ll see you by and by .

Antony and Cleopatra


O , whither hast them led me , Egypt ? See
How I convey my shame out of thine eyes ,
By looking back what I have left behind
’Stroyed in dishonor .

Antony and Cleopatra

Tug him away . Being whipped ,
Bring him again . This jack of Caesar’s shall
Bear us an errand to him .

You were half blasted ere I knew you .
Ha !
Have I my pillow left unpressed in Rome ,
Forborne the getting of a lawful race ,
And by a gem of women , to be abused
By one that looks on feeders ?

Antony and Cleopatra


If that thy father live , let him repent
Thou wast not made his daughter ; and be thou sorry
To follow Caesar in his triumph , since
Thou hast been whipped for following him .
Henceforth
The white hand of a lady fever thee ;
Shake thou to look on ’t . Get thee back to Caesar .
Tell him thy entertainment . Look thou say
He makes me angry with him ; for he seems
Proud and disdainful , harping on what I am ,
Not what he knew I was . He makes me angry ,
And at this time most easy ’tis to do ’t ,
When my good stars that were my former guides
Have empty left their orbs and shot their fires
Into th’ abysm of hell . If he mislike
My speech and what is done , tell him he has
Hipparchus , my enfranchèd bondman , whom
He may at pleasure whip , or hang , or torture ,
As he shall like to quit me . Urge it thou .
Hence with thy stripes , begone !

Antony and Cleopatra

I am satisfied .
Caesar sits down in Alexandria , where
I will oppose his fate . Our force by land
Hath nobly held ; our severed navy too
Have knit again , and fleet , threatening most sealike .
Where hast thou been , my heart ? Dost thou hear ,
lady ?
If from the field I shall return once more
To kiss these lips , I will appear in blood .
I and my sword will earn our chronicle .
There’s hope in ’t yet .

Antony and Cleopatra

Tomorrow , soldier ,
By sea and land I’ll fight . Or I will live
Or bathe my dying honor in the blood
Shall make it live again . Woo’t thou fight well ?

Antony and Cleopatra

Tend me tonight ;
May be it is the period of your duty .
Haply you shall not see me more , or if ,
A mangled shadow . Perchance tomorrow
You’ll serve another master . I look on you
As one that takes his leave . Mine honest friends ,
I turn you not away , but , like a master
Married to your good service , stay till death .
Tend me tonight two hours — I ask no more —
And the gods yield you for ’t !

Antony and Cleopatra

What mean you , sir ,
To give them this discomfort ? Look , they weep ,
And I , an ass , am onion-eyed . For shame ,
Transform us not to women .

Antony and Cleopatra

Rarely , rarely .
He that unbuckles this , till we do please
To daff ’t for our repose , shall hear a storm . —
Thou fumblest , Eros , and my queen’s a squire
More tight at this than thou . Dispatch . — O love ,
That thou couldst see my wars today , and knew’st
The royal occupation , thou shouldst see
A workman in ’t .



Good morrow to thee . Welcome .
Thou look’st like him that knows a warlike charge .
To business that we love we rise betime
And go to ’t with delight .

Antony and Cleopatra


We have beat him to his camp . Run one before
And let the Queen know of our gests .

Tomorrow
Before the sun shall see ’s , we’ll spill the blood
That has today escaped . I thank you all ,
For doughty-handed are you , and have fought
Not as you served the cause , but as ’t had been
Each man’s like mine . You have shown all Hectors .
Enter the city . Clip your wives , your friends .
Tell them your feats , whilst they with joyful tears
Wash the congealment from your wounds and kiss
The honored gashes whole .



Give me thy hand .
To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts ,
Make her thanks bless thee . — O , thou day o’ th’
world ,
Chain mine armed neck . Leap thou , attire and all ,
Through proof of harness to my heart , and there
Ride on the pants triumphing .

Antony and Cleopatra


I would they’d fight i’ th’ fire or i’ th’ air ;
We’d fight there too . But this it is : our foot
Upon the hills adjoining to the city
Shall stay with us — order for sea is given ;
They have put forth the haven —
Where their appointment we may best discover
And look on their endeavor .

Antony and Cleopatra

Swallows have built
In Cleopatra’s sails their nests . The augurs
Say they know not , they cannot tell , look grimly
And dare not speak their knowledge . Antony
Is valiant and dejected , and by starts
His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear
Of what he has and has not .

Antony and Cleopatra

All is lost !
This foul Egyptian hath betrayèd me .
My fleet hath yielded to the foe , and yonder
They cast their caps up and carouse together
Like friends long lost . Triple-turned whore ! ’Tis thou
Hast sold me to this novice , and my heart
Makes only wars on thee . Bid them all fly —
For when I am revenged upon my charm ,
I have done all . Bid them all fly . Begone !

O sun , thy uprise shall I see no more .
Fortune and Antony part here ; even here
Do we shake hands . All come to this ? The hearts
That spanieled me at heels , to whom I gave
Their wishes , do discandy , melt their sweets
On blossoming Caesar , and this pine is barked
That overtopped them all . Betrayed I am .
O , this false soul of Egypt ! This grave charm ,
Whose eye becked forth my wars and called them
home ,
Whose bosom was my crownet , my chief end ,
Like a right gypsy hath at fast and loose
Beguiled me to the very heart of loss . —
What Eros , Eros !



Ah , thou spell ! Avaunt !

Antony and Cleopatra

My dear master ,
My captain , and my emperor , let me say ,
Before I strike this bloody stroke , farewell .

Antony and Cleopatra


His death’s upon him , but not dead .
Look out o’ th’ other side your monument .
His guard have brought him thither .

Antony and Cleopatra


No more but e’en a woman , and commanded
By such poor passion as the maid that milks
And does the meanest chares . It were for me
To throw my scepter at the injurious gods ,
To tell them that this world did equal theirs
Till they had stolen our jewel . All’s but naught .
Patience is sottish , and impatience does
Become a dog that’s mad . Then is it sin
To rush into the secret house of death
Ere death dare come to us ? How do you , women ?
What , what , good cheer ! Why , how now , Charmian ?
My noble girls ! Ah , women , women ! Look ,
Our lamp is spent ; it’s out . Good sirs , take heart .
We’ll bury him ; and then , what’s brave , what’s
noble ,
Let’s do ’t after the high Roman fashion
And make death proud to take us . Come , away .
This case of that huge spirit now is cold .
Ah women , women ! Come , we have no friend
But resolution and the briefest end .

Antony and Cleopatra

He is dead , Caesar ,
Not by a public minister of justice ,
Nor by a hirèd knife , but that self hand
Which writ his honor in the acts it did
Hath , with the courage which the heart did lend it ,
Splitted the heart . This is his sword .
I robbed his wound of it . Behold it stained
With his most noble blood .

Antony and Cleopatra

Look you sad , friends ?
The gods rebuke me , but it is tidings
To wash the eyes of kings .

Antony and Cleopatra

O Antony ,
I have followed thee to this , but we do lance
Diseases in our bodies . I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day
Or look on thine . We could not stall together
In the whole world . But yet let me lament
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts
That thou my brother , my competitor
In top of all design , my mate in empire ,
Friend and companion in the front of war ,
The arm of mine own body , and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle — that our stars
Unreconciliable should divide
Our equalness to this . Hear me , good friends —



But I will tell you at some meeter season .
The business of this man looks out of him .
We’ll hear him what he says . — Whence are you ?

Antony and Cleopatra

Pray you tell him
I am his fortune’s vassal and I send him
The greatness he has got . I hourly learn
A doctrine of obedience , and would gladly
Look him i’ th’ face .

Antony and Cleopatra

You must think this , look you , that the
worm will do his kind .

Antony and Cleopatra

Look you , the worm is not to be trusted
but in the keeping of wise people , for indeed there
is no goodness in the worm .

Antony and Cleopatra

O , noble weakness !
If they had swallowed poison , ’twould appear
By external swelling ; but she looks like sleep ,
As she would catch another Antony
In her strong toil of grace .

Antony and Cleopatra

Here on her breast
There is a vent of blood , and something blown .
The like is on her arm .

As You Like It

Ay , better than him I am before knows me . I
know you are my eldest brother , and in the gentle
condition of blood you should so know me . The
courtesy of nations allows you my better , in that you
are the first-born , but the same tradition takes not
away my blood , were there twenty brothers betwixt
us . I have as much of my father in me as you , albeit I
confess your coming before me is nearer to his
reverence .

As You Like It

Charles , I thank thee for thy love to me , which
thou shalt find I will most kindly requite . I had
myself notice of my brother’s purpose herein , and
have by underhand means labored to dissuade him
from it ; but he is resolute . I’ll tell thee , Charles , it is
the stubbornest young fellow of France , full of
ambition , an envious emulator of every man’s good
parts , a secret and villainous contriver against me
his natural brother . Therefore use thy discretion . I
had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger .
And thou wert best look to ’t , for if thou dost him
any slight disgrace , or if he do not mightily grace
himself on thee , he will practice against thee by
poison , entrap thee by some treacherous device ,
and never leave thee till he hath ta’en thy life by
some indirect means or other . For I assure thee —
and almost with tears I speak it — there is not one so
young and so villainous this day living . I speak but
brotherly of him , but should I anatomize him to
thee as he is , I must blush and weep , and thou must
look pale and wonder .

As You Like It

Alas , he is too young . Yet he looks successfully .

As You Like It

Let me love him for that , and do you love
him because I do .



Look , here comes the Duke .

As You Like It


I’ll have no worse a name than Jove’s own page ,
And therefore look you call me Ganymede .
But what will you be called ?

As You Like It


O yes , into a thousand similes .
First , for his weeping into the needless stream :
Poor deer , quoth he , thou mak’st a testament
As worldlings do , giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much . Then , being there
alone ,
Left and abandoned of his velvet friends :
’Tis right , quoth he . Thus misery doth part
The flux of company . Anon a careless herd ,
Full of the pasture , jumps along by him
And never stays to greet him . Ay , quoth Jaques ,
Sweep on , you fat and greasy citizens .
’Tis just the fashion . Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ?
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of country , city , court ,
Yea , and of this our life , swearing that we
Are mere usurpers , tyrants , and what’s worse ,
To fright the animals and to kill them up
In their assigned and native dwelling place .

As You Like It


What , wouldst thou have me go and beg my food ,
Or with a base and boist’rous sword enforce
A thievish living on the common road ?
This I must do , or know not what to do ;
Yet this I will not do , do how I can .
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother .

As You Like It


But do not so . I have five hundred crowns ,
The thrifty hire I saved under your father ,
Which I did store to be my foster nurse
When service should in my old limbs lie lame ,
And unregarded age in corners thrown .
Take that , and He that doth the ravens feed ,
Yea , providently caters for the sparrow ,
Be comfort to my age . Here is the gold .
All this I give you . Let me be your servant .
Though I look old , yet I am strong and lusty ,
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ,
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility .
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter ,
Frosty but kindly . Let me go with you .
I’ll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities .

As You Like It

Ay , be so , good Touchstone .



Look you who comes here , a young man and an old
in solemn talk .

As You Like It

Well , I’ll end the song . — Sirs , cover the while ;
the Duke will drink under this tree . — He hath been
all this day to look you .

As You Like It

Why , how now , Adam ? No greater heart in
thee ? Live a little , comfort a little , cheer thyself a
little . If this uncouth forest yield anything savage , I
will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee .
Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers . For my
sake , be comfortable . Hold death awhile at the
arm’s end . I will here be with thee presently , and if
I bring thee not something to eat , I will give thee
leave to die . But if thou diest before I come , thou art
a mocker of my labor . Well said . Thou look’st
cheerly , and I’ll be with thee quickly . Yet thou liest
in the bleak air . Come , I will bear thee to some
shelter , and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner if
there live anything in this desert . Cheerly , good
Adam .

As You Like It


Why , how now , monsieur ? What a life is this
That your poor friends must woo your company ?
What , you look merrily .

As You Like It


A fool , a fool , I met a fool i’ th’ forest ,
A motley fool . A miserable world !
As I do live by food , I met a fool ,
Who laid him down and basked him in the sun
And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms ,
In good set terms , and yet a motley fool .
Good morrow , fool , quoth I . No , sir , quoth he ,
Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me
fortune .
And then he drew a dial from his poke
And , looking on it with lack-luster eye ,
Says very wisely It is ten o’clock .
Thus we may see , quoth he , how the world wags .
’Tis but an hour ago since it was nine ,
And after one hour more ’twill be eleven .
And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe ,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot ,
And thereby hangs a tale . When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time ,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer
That fools should be so deep-contemplative ,
And I did laugh sans intermission
An hour by his dial . O noble fool !
A worthy fool ! Motley’s the only wear .

As You Like It


Speak you so gently ? Pardon me , I pray you .
I thought that all things had been savage here ,
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment . But whate’er you are
That in this desert inaccessible ,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs ,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ,
If ever you have looked on better days ,
If ever been where bells have knolled to church ,
If ever sat at any good man’s feast ,
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied ,
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be ,
In the which hope I blush and hide my sword .

As You Like It

All the world’s a stage ,
And all the men and women merely players .
They have their exits and their entrances ,
And one man in his time plays many parts ,
His acts being seven ages . At first the infant ,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms .
Then the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face , creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school . And then the lover ,
Sighing like furnace , with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow . Then a soldier ,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard ,
Jealous in honor , sudden and quick in quarrel ,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth . And then the justice ,
In fair round belly with good capon lined ,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut ,
Full of wise saws and modern instances ;
And so he plays his part . The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side ,
His youthful hose , well saved , a world too wide
For his shrunk shank , and his big manly voice ,
Turning again toward childish treble , pipes
And whistles in his sound . Last scene of all ,
That ends this strange eventful history ,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion ,
Sans teeth , sans eyes , sans taste , sans everything .


As You Like It


Not see him since ? Sir , sir , that cannot be .
But were I not the better part made mercy ,
I should not seek an absent argument
Of my revenge , thou present . But look to it :
Find out thy brother wheresoe’er he is .
Seek him with candle . Bring him , dead or living ,
Within this twelvemonth , or turn thou no more
To seek a living in our territory .
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine ,
Worth seizure , do we seize into our hands
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother’s mouth
Of what we think against thee .

As You Like It


Hang there , my verse , in witness of my love .
And thou , thrice-crownèd queen of night , survey
With thy chaste eye , from thy pale sphere above ,
Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway .
O Rosalind , these trees shall be my books ,
And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character ,
That every eye which in this forest looks
Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere .
Run , run , Orlando , carve on every tree
The fair , the chaste , and unexpressive she .

As You Like It

Truly , shepherd , in respect of itself , it is a
good life ; but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life , it
is naught . In respect that it is solitary , I like it very
well ; but in respect that it is private , it is a very vile
life . Now in respect it is in the fields , it pleaseth me
well ; but in respect it is not in the court , it is
tedious . As it is a spare life , look you , it fits my
humor well ; but as there is no more plenty in it , it
goes much against my stomach . Hast any philosophy
in thee , shepherd ?

As You Like It

I was seven of the nine days out of the
wonder before you came , for look here what I
found on a palm tree . I was never so berhymed since Pythagoras’
time that I was an Irish rat , which I can hardly
remember .

As You Like It

Alas the day , what shall I do with my doublet
and hose ? What did he when thou saw’st him ? What
said he ? How looked he ? Wherein went he ? What
makes he here ? Did he ask for me ? Where remains
he ? How parted he with thee ? And when shalt thou
see him again ? Answer me in one word .

As You Like It

But doth he know that I am in this forest and
in man’s apparel ? Looks he as freshly as he did the
day he wrestled ?

As You Like It

He is drowned in the brook . Look but in , and
you shall see him .

As You Like It


Sweet Phoebe , do not scorn me . Do not , Phoebe .
Say that you love me not , but say not so
In bitterness . The common executioner ,
Whose heart th’ accustomed sight of death makes
hard ,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
But first begs pardon . Will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops ?

As You Like It


And why , I pray you ? Who might be your mother ,
That you insult , exult , and all at once ,
Over the wretched ? What though you have no
beauty —
As , by my faith , I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed —
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ?
Why , what means this ? Why do you look on me ?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature’s sale-work . — ’Od’s my little life ,
I think she means to tangle my eyes , too . —
No , faith , proud mistress , hope not after it .
’Tis not your inky brows , your black silk hair ,
Your bugle eyeballs , nor your cheek of cream
That can entame my spirits to your worship . —
You foolish shepherd , wherefore do you follow her ,
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain ?
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman . ’Tis such fools as you
That makes the world full of ill-favored children .
’Tis not her glass but you that flatters her ,
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Than any of her lineaments can show her . —
But , mistress , know yourself . Down on your knees
And thank heaven , fasting , for a good man’s love ,
For I must tell you friendly in your ear ,
Sell when you can ; you are not for all markets .
Cry the man mercy , love him , take his offer .
Foul is most foul , being foul to be a scoffer . —
So take her to thee , shepherd . Fare you well .

As You Like It

He’s fall’n in love with your
foulness . And she’ll fall in love with
my anger . If it be so , as fast as she answers thee with
frowning looks , I’ll sauce her with bitter words . Why look you so upon me ?

As You Like It


I pray you , do not fall in love with me ,
For I am falser than vows made in wine .
Besides , I like you not . If you will know my house ,
’Tis at the tuft of olives , here hard by . —
Will you go , sister ? — Shepherd , ply her hard . —
Come , sister . — Shepherdess , look on him better ,
And be not proud . Though all the world could see ,
None could be so abused in sight as he . —
Come , to our flock .

As You Like It

Why , that were covetousness .
Silvius , the time was that I hated thee ;
And yet it is not that I bear thee love ; ,
But since that thou canst talk of love so well ,
Thy company , which erst was irksome to me ,
I will endure , and I’ll employ thee too .
But do not look for further recompense
Than thine own gladness that thou art employed .

As You Like It


So holy and so perfect is my love ,
And I in such a poverty of grace ,
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps . Loose now and then
A scattered smile , and that I’ll live upon .

As You Like It

Farewell , Monsieur Traveller .
Look you lisp and wear strange suits , disable all
the benefits of your own country , be out of love with
your nativity , and almost chide God for making you
that countenance you are , or I will scarce think you
have swam in a gondola .

Why , how now , Orlando , where have you been all
this while ? You a lover ? An you serve me such
another trick , never come in my sight more .

As You Like It

I warrant you , with pure love and troubled brain
he hath ta’en his bow and arrows and is gone forth
to sleep .


Look who comes here .

As You Like It


Orlando doth commend him to you both ,
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
He sends this bloody napkin . Are you he ?

As You Like It


But for the bloody napkin ?

As You Like It

By and by .
When from the first to last betwixt us two
Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed —
As how I came into that desert place —
In brief , he led me to the gentle duke ,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment ,
Committing me unto my brother’s love ;
Who led me instantly unto his cave ,
There stripped himself , and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away ,
Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted ,
And cried in fainting upon Rosalind .
Brief , I recovered him , bound up his wound ,
And after some small space , being strong at heart ,
He sent me hither , stranger as I am ,
To tell this story , that you might excuse
His broken promise , and to give this napkin
Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind .

As You Like It


Many will swoon when they do look on blood .

As You Like It

Look , he recovers .

As You Like It

Come , you look paler and paler . Pray
you draw homewards . — Good sir , go with us .

As You Like It

You have my consent . Let your wedding be
tomorrow . Thither will I invite the Duke and all ’s
contented followers . Go you and prepare Aliena ,
for , look you , here comes my Rosalind .

As You Like It

O , I know where you are .
Nay , ’tis true . There was never anything so sudden
but the fight of two rams , and Caesar’s thrasonical
brag of I came , saw , and overcame . For your
brother and my sister no sooner met but they
looked , no sooner looked but they loved , no sooner
loved but they sighed , no sooner sighed but they
asked one another the reason , no sooner knew the
reason but they sought the remedy ; and in these
degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage ,
which they will climb incontinent , or else be incontinent
before marriage . They are in the very wrath
of love , and they will together . Clubs cannot part
them .

As You Like It

They shall be married tomorrow , and I will
bid the Duke to the nuptial . But O , how bitter a
thing it is to look into happiness through another
man’s eyes . By so much the more shall I tomorrow
be at the height of heart-heaviness by how much I
shall think my brother happy in having what he
wishes for .

As You Like It

By my life I do , which I
tender dearly , though I say I am a magician . Therefore
put you in your best array , bid your friends ; for
if you will be married tomorrow , you shall , and to
Rosalind , if you will .



Look , here comes a lover of mine and a lover of
hers .

As You Like It


I care not if I have . It is my study
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you .
You are there followed by a faithful shepherd .
Look upon him , love him ; he worships you .

As You Like It

There is sure another flood toward , and these
couples are coming to the ark . Here comes a pair of
very strange beasts , which in all tongues are called
fools .

As You Like It

God ’ild you , sir . I desire you of the like . I
press in here , sir , amongst the rest of the country
copulatives , to swear and to forswear , according as
marriage binds and blood breaks . A poor virgin , sir ,
an ill-favored thing , sir , but mine own . A poor
humor of mine , sir , to take that that no man else
will . Rich honesty dwells like a miser , sir , in a poor
house , as your pearl in your foul oyster .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


I would my father looked but with my eyes .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Rather your eyes must with his judgment look .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Either to die the death , or to abjure
Forever the society of men .
Therefore , fair Hermia , question your desires ,
Know of your youth , examine well your blood ,
Whether ( if you yield not to your father’s choice )
You can endure the livery of a nun ,
For aye to be in shady cloister mewed ,
To live a barren sister all your life ,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon .
Thrice-blessèd they that master so their blood
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage ,
But earthlier happy is the rose distilled
Than that which , withering on the virgin thorn ,
Grows , lives , and dies in single blessedness .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


I must confess that I have heard so much ,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof ;
But , being overfull of self-affairs ,
My mind did lose it . — But , Demetrius , come ,
And come , Egeus ; you shall go with me .
I have some private schooling for you both . —
For you , fair Hermia , look you arm yourself
To fit your fancies to your father’s will ,
Or else the law of Athens yields you up
( Which by no means we may extenuate )
To death or to a vow of single life . —
Come , my Hippolyta . What cheer , my love ? —
Demetrius and Egeus , go along .
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial , and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Ay me ! For aught that I could ever read ,
Could ever hear by tale or history ,
The course of true love never did run smooth .
But either it was different in blood —

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Keep promise , love . Look , here comes Helena .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Call you me fair ? That fair again unsay .
Demetrius loves your fair . O happy fair !
Your eyes are lodestars and your tongue’s sweet air
More tunable than lark to shepherd’s ear
When wheat is green , when hawthorn buds appear .
Sickness is catching . O , were favor so !
Yours would I catch , fair Hermia , ere I go .
My ear should catch your voice , my eye your eye ;
My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet
melody .
Were the world mine , Demetrius being bated ,
The rest I’d give to be to you translated .
O , teach me how you look and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart !

A Midsummer Night's Dream


How happy some o’er other some can be !
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she .
But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so .
He will not know what all but he do know .
And , as he errs , doting on Hermia’s eyes ,
So I , admiring of his qualities .
Things base and vile , holding no quantity ,
Love can transpose to form and dignity .
Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind ;
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind .
Nor hath Love’s mind of any judgment taste .
Wings , and no eyes , figure unheedy haste .
And therefore is Love said to be a child
Because in choice he is so oft beguiled .
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear ,
So the boy Love is perjured everywhere .
For , ere Demetrius looked on Hermia’s eyne ,
He hailed down oaths that he was only mine ;
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt ,
So he dissolved , and show’rs of oaths did melt .
I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight .
Then to the wood will he tomorrow night
Pursue her . And , for this intelligence
If I have thanks , it is a dear expense .
But herein mean I to enrich my pain ,
To have his sight thither and back again .

A Midsummer Night's Dream

That will ask some tears in the true performing
of it . If I do it , let the audience look to their
eyes . I will move storms ; I will condole in some
measure . To the rest . — Yet my chief humor is for a
tyrant . I could play Ercles rarely , or a part to tear a
cat in , to make all split :

The raging rocks
And shivering shocks
Shall break the locks
Of prison gates .
And Phibbus’ car
Shall shine from far
And make and mar
The foolish Fates .

This was lofty . Now name the rest of the players .
This is Ercles’ vein , a tyrant’s vein . A lover is more
condoling .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Over hill , over dale ,
Thorough bush , thorough brier ,
Over park , over pale ,
Thorough flood , thorough fire ;
I do wander everywhere ,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere .
And I serve the Fairy Queen ,
To dew her orbs upon the green .
The cowslips tall her pensioners be ;
In their gold coats spots you see ;
Those be rubies , fairy favors ;
In those freckles live their savors .
I must go seek some dewdrops here
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear .
Farewell , thou lob of spirits . I’ll be gone .
Our queen and all her elves come here anon .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


These are the forgeries of jealousy ;
And never , since the middle summer’s spring ,
Met we on hill , in dale , forest , or mead ,
By pavèd fountain or by rushy brook ,
Or in the beachèd margent of the sea ,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind ,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport .
Therefore the winds , piping to us in vain ,
As in revenge have sucked up from the sea
Contagious fogs , which , falling in the land ,
Hath every pelting river made so proud
That they have overborne their continents .
The ox hath therefore stretched his yoke in vain ,
The plowman lost his sweat , and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attained a beard .
The fold stands empty in the drownèd field ,
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock .
The nine-men’s-morris is filled up with mud ,
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green ,
For lack of tread , are undistinguishable .
The human mortals want their winter here .
No night is now with hymn or carol blessed .
Therefore the moon , the governess of floods ,
Pale in her anger , washes all the air ,
That rheumatic diseases do abound .
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ,
And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is , as in mockery , set . The spring , the summer ,
The childing autumn , angry winter , change
Their wonted liveries , and the mazèd world
By their increase now knows not which is which .
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate , from our dissension ;
We are their parents and original .

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Set your heart at rest :
The Fairyland buys not the child of me .
His mother was a vot’ress of my order ,
And in the spicèd Indian air by night
Full often hath she gossiped by my side
And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands ,
Marking th’ embarkèd traders on the flood ,
When we have laughed to see the sails conceive
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind ;
Which she , with pretty and with swimming gait ,
Following ( her womb then rich with my young
squire ) ,
Would imitate and sail upon the land
To fetch me trifles and return again ,
As from a voyage , rich with merchandise .
But she , being mortal , of that boy did die ,
And for her sake do I rear up her boy ,
And for her sake I will not part with him .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


That very time I saw ( but thou couldst not ) ,
Flying between the cold moon and the Earth earth ,
Cupid all armed . A certain aim he took
At a fair vestal thronèd by the west ,
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts .
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft
Quenched in the chaste beams of the wat’ry moon ,
And the imperial vot’ress passèd on
In maiden meditation , fancy-free .
Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell .
It fell upon a little western flower ,
Before , milk-white , now purple with love’s wound ,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness .
Fetch me that flower ; the herb I showed thee once .
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees .
Fetch me this herb , and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league .

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Having once this juice ,
I’ll watch Titania when she is asleep
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes .
The next thing then she , waking , looks upon
( Be it on lion , bear , or wolf , or bull ,
On meddling monkey , or on busy ape )
She shall pursue it with the soul of love .
And ere I take this charm from off her sight
( As I can take it with another herb ) ,
I’ll make her render up her page to me .
But who comes here ? I am invisible ,
And I will overhear their conference .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit ,
For I am sick when I do look on thee .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


And I am sick when I look not on you .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Your virtue is my privilege . For that
It is not night when I do see your face ,
Therefore I think I am not in the night .
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company ,
For you , in my respect , are all the world .
Then , how can it be said I am alone
When all the world is here to look on me ?

A Midsummer Night's Dream

I pray thee give it me .

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows ,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows ,
Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine ,
With sweet muskroses , and with eglantine .
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night ,
Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight .
And there the snake throws her enameled skin ,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in .
And with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes
And make her full of hateful fantasies .
Take thou some of it , and seek through this grove .

A sweet Athenian lady is in love
With a disdainful youth . Anoint his eyes ,
But do it when the next thing he espies
May be the lady . Thou shalt know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath on .
Effect it with some care , that he may prove
More fond on her than she upon her love .
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Hence , away ! Now all is well .
One aloof stand sentinel .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


O , I am out of breath in this fond chase .
The more my prayer , the lesser is my grace .
Happy is Hermia , wheresoe’er she lies ,
For she hath blessèd and attractive eyes .
How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tears .
If so , my eyes are oftener washed than hers .
No , no , I am as ugly as a bear ,
For beasts that meet me run away for fear .
Therefore no marvel though Demetrius
Do as a monster fly my presence thus .
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
Made me compare with Hermia’s sphery eyne ?
But who is here ? Lysander , on the ground !
Dead or asleep ? I see no blood , no wound . —
Lysander , if you live , good sir , awake .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Content with Hermia ? No , I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent .
Not Hermia , but Helena I love .
Who will not change a raven for a dove ?
The will of man is by his reason swayed ,
And reason says you are the worthier maid .
Things growing are not ripe until their season ;
So I , being young , till now ripe not to reason .
And touching now the point of human skill ,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will
And leads me to your eyes , where I o’erlook
Love’s stories written in love’s richest book .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born ?
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn ?
Is ’t not enough , is ’t not enough , young man ,
That I did never , no , nor never can
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius’ eye ,
But you must flout my insufficiency ?
Good troth , you do me wrong , good sooth , you do ,
In such disdainful manner me to woo .
But fare you well . Perforce I must confess
I thought you lord of more true gentleness .
O , that a lady of one man refused
Should of another therefore be abused !

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Help me , Lysander , help me ! Do thy best
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast .
Ay me , for pity ! What a dream was here !
Lysander , look how I do quake with fear .
Methought a serpent ate my heart away ,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey .
Lysander ! What , removed ? Lysander , lord !
What , out of hearing ? Gone ? No sound , no word ?
Alack , where are you ? Speak , an if you hear .
Speak , of all loves ! I swoon almost with fear . —
No ? Then I well perceive you are not nigh .
Either death or you I’ll find immediately .

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Masters , you ought to consider with yourself ,
to bring in ( God shield us ! ) a lion among ladies is a
most dreadful thing . For there is not a more fearful
wildfowl than your lion living , and we ought to look
to ’t .

A Midsummer Night's Dream

A calendar , a calendar ! Look in the almanac .
Find out moonshine , find out moonshine .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Come , wait upon him . Lead him to my bower .
The moon , methinks , looks with a wat’ry eye ,
And when she weeps , weeps every little flower ,
Lamenting some enforcèd chastity .
Tie up my lover’s tongue . Bring him silently .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Now I but chide , but I should use thee worse ,
For thou , I fear , hast given me cause to curse .
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep ,
Being o’er shoes in blood , plunge in the deep
And kill me too .
The sun was not so true unto the day
As he to me . Would he have stolen away
From sleeping Hermia ? I’ll believe as soon
This whole Earth earth may be bored , and that the moon
May through the center creep and so displease
Her brother’s noontide with th’ Antipodes .
It cannot be but thou hast murdered him .
So should a murderer look , so dead , so grim .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


So should the murdered look , and so should I ,
Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty .
Yet you , the murderer , look as bright , as clear ,
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Out , dog ! Out , cur ! Thou driv’st me past the bounds
Of maiden’s patience . Hast thou slain him , then ?
Henceforth be never numbered among men .
O , once tell true ! Tell true , even for my sake !
Durst thou have looked upon him , being awake ?
And hast thou killed him sleeping ? O brave touch !
Could not a worm , an adder , do so much ?
An adder did it , for with doubler tongue
Than thine , thou serpent , never adder stung .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


You spend your passion on a misprised mood .
I am not guilty of Lysander’s blood ,
Nor is he dead , for aught that I can tell .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


About the wood go swifter than the wind ,
And Helena of Athens look thou find .
All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer
With sighs of love that costs the fresh blood dear .
By some illusion see thou bring her here .
I’ll charm his eyes against she do appear .

A Midsummer Night's Dream

I go , I go , look how I go ,
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Why should you think that I should woo in scorn ?
Scorn and derision never come in tears .
Look when I vow , I weep ; and vows so born ,
In their nativity all truth appears .
How can these things in me seem scorn to you ,
Bearing the badge of faith to prove them true ?

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Disparage not the faith thou dost not know ,
Lest to thy peril thou aby it dear .
Look where thy love comes . Yonder is thy dear .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Ay , do . Persever , counterfeit sad looks ,
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back ,
Wink each at other , hold the sweet jest up .
This sport , well carried , shall be chronicled .
If you have any pity , grace , or manners ,
You would not make me such an argument .
But fare you well . ’Tis partly my own fault ,
Which death or absence soon shall remedy .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


No , no . He’ll
Seem to break loose . Take on as you
would follow ,
But yet come not . You are a tame man , go !

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Hang off , thou cat , thou burr ! Vile thing , let loose ,
Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight .
Hie , therefore , Robin , overcast the night ;
The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog as black as Acheron ,
And lead these testy rivals so astray
As one come not within another’s way .
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue ;
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong .
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius .
And from each other look thou lead them thus ,
Till o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep .
Then crush this herb into Lysander’s eye ,

Whose liquor hath this virtuous property ,
To take from thence all error with his might
And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight .
When they next wake , all this derision
Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision .
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend ,
With league whose date till death shall never end .
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ ,
I’ll to my queen and beg her Indian boy ;
And then I will her charmèd eye release
From monster’s view , and all things shall be peace .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


My fairy lord , this must be done with haste ,
For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast ,
And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger ,
At whose approach , ghosts wand’ring here and
there
Troop home to churchyards . Damnèd spirits all ,
That in crossways and floods have burial ,
Already to their wormy beds are gone .
For fear lest day should look their shames upon ,
They willfully themselves exile from light
And must for aye consort with black-browed night .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Thou coward , art thou bragging to the stars ,
Telling the bushes that thou look’st for wars ,
And wilt not come ? Come , recreant ! Come , thou
child !
I’ll whip thee with a rod . He is defiled
That draws a sword on thee .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Abide me , if thou dar’st , for well I wot
Thou runn’st before me , shifting every place ,
And dar’st not stand nor look me in the face .
Where art thou now ?

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Nay , then , thou mock’st me . Thou shalt buy this
dear
If ever I thy face by daylight see .
Now go thy way . Faintness constraineth me
To measure out my length on this cold bed .
By day’s approach look to be visited .

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Not a word of me . All that I will tell you is that
the Duke hath dined . Get your apparel together ,
good strings to your beards , new ribbons to your
pumps . Meet presently at the palace . Every man
look o’er his part . For the short and the long is , our
play is preferred . In any case , let Thisbe have clean
linen , and let not him that plays the lion pare his
nails , for they shall hang out for the lion’s claws .
And , most dear actors , eat no onions nor garlic , for
we are to utter sweet breath , and I do not doubt but
to hear them say it is a sweet comedy . No more
words . Away ! Go , away !

A Midsummer Night's Dream


The kinder we , to give them thanks for nothing .
Our sport shall be to take what they mistake ;
And what poor duty cannot do , noble respect
Takes it in might , not merit .
Where I have come , great clerks have purposèd
To greet me with premeditated welcomes ,
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale ,
Make periods in the midst of sentences ,
Throttle their practiced accent in their fears ,
And in conclusion dumbly have broke off ,
Not paying me a welcome . Trust me , sweet ,
Out of this silence yet I picked a welcome ,
And in the modesty of fearful duty ,
I read as much as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence .
Love , therefore , and tongue-tied simplicity
In least speak most , to my capacity .


A Midsummer Night's Dream


Gentles , perchance you wonder at this show .
But wonder on , till truth make all things plain .
This man is Pyramus , if you would know .
This beauteous lady Thisbe is certain .
This man with lime and roughcast doth present
Wall , that vile wall which did these lovers
sunder ;
And through Wall’s chink , poor souls , they are
content
To whisper , at the which let no man wonder .
This man , with lantern , dog , and bush of thorn ,
Presenteth Moonshine , for , if you will know ,
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn
To meet at Ninus’ tomb , there , there to woo .
This grisly beast ( which Lion hight by name )
The trusty Thisbe coming first by night
Did scare away , or rather did affright ;
And , as she fled , her mantle she did fall ,
Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain .
Anon comes Pyramus , sweet youth and tall ,
And finds his trusty Thisbe’s mantle slain .
Whereat , with blade , with bloody blameful blade ,
He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast .
And Thisbe , tarrying in mulberry shade ,
His dagger drew , and died . For all the rest ,
Let Lion , Moonshine , Wall , and lovers twain
At large discourse , while here they do remain .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


O grim-looked night ! O night with hue so black !
O night , which ever art when day is not !
O night ! O night ! Alack , alack , alack !
I fear my Thisbe’s promise is forgot .
And thou , O wall , O sweet , O lovely wall ,
That stand’st between her father’s ground and
mine ,
Thou wall , O wall , O sweet and lovely wall ,
Show me thy chink to blink through with mine
eyne .
Thanks , courteous wall . Jove shield thee well for
this .
But what see I ? No Thisbe do I see .
O wicked wall , through whom I see no bliss ,
Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me !

A Midsummer Night's Dream


You ladies , you whose gentle hearts do fear
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on
floor ,
May now perchance both quake and tremble here ,
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar .
Then know that I , as Snug the joiner , am
A lion fell , nor else no lion’s dam ;
For if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place , ’twere pity on my life .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


Sweet Moon , I thank thee for thy sunny beams .
I thank thee , Moon , for shining now so bright ,
For by thy gracious , golden , glittering gleams ,
I trust to take of truest Thisbe sight . —
But stay ! O spite !
But mark , poor knight ,
What dreadful dole is here !
Eyes , do you see !
How can it be !
O dainty duck ! O dear !
Thy mantle good —
What , stained with blood ?
Approach , ye Furies fell !
O Fates , come , come ,
Cut thread and thrum ,
Quail , crush , conclude , and quell !

A Midsummer Night's Dream

This passion , and the death of a dear friend ,
would go near to make a man look sad .

A Midsummer Night's Dream


O , wherefore , Nature , didst thou lions frame ,
Since lion vile hath here deflowered my dear ,
Which is — no , no — which was the fairest dame
That lived , that loved , that liked , that looked with
cheer ?
Come , tears , confound !
Out , sword , and wound
The pap of Pyramus ;
Ay , that left pap ,
Where heart doth hop .
Thus die I , thus , thus , thus .
Now am I dead ;
Now am I fled ;
My soul is in the sky .
Tongue , lose thy light !
Moon , take thy flight !
Now die , die , die , die , die .

Coriolanus


Sir , I shall tell you . With a kind of smile ,
Which ne’er came from the lungs , but even thus —
For , look you , I may make the belly smile
As well as speak — it tauntingly replied
To th’ discontented members , the mutinous parts
That envied his receipt ; even so most fitly
As you malign our senators for that
They are not such as you .

Coriolanus

Note me this , good friend ;
Your most grave belly was deliberate ,
Not rash like his accusers , and thus answered :
True is it , my incorporate friends , quoth he ,
That I receive the general food at first
Which you do live upon ; and fit it is ,
Because I am the storehouse and the shop
Of the whole body . But , if you do remember ,
I send it through the rivers of your blood
Even to the court , the heart , to th’ seat o’ th’ brain ;
And , through the cranks and offices of man ,
The strongest nerves and small inferior veins
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live . And though that all at once ,
You , my good friends — this says the belly , mark
me —

Coriolanus


For that , being one o’ th’ lowest , basest , poorest ,
Of this most wise rebellion , thou goest foremost .
Thou rascal , that art worst in blood to run ,
Lead’st first to win some vantage .
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs .
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle ;
The one side must have bale .



Hail , noble Martius .

Coriolanus

They are dissolved . Hang
’em !
They said they were an-hungry , sighed forth
proverbs
That hunger broke stone walls , that dogs must eat ,
That meat was made for mouths , that the gods sent
not
Corn for the rich men only . With these shreds
They vented their complainings , which being
answered
And a petition granted them — a strange one ,
To break the heart of generosity
And make bold power look pale — they threw their
caps
As they would hang them on the horns o’ th’ moon ,
Shouting their emulation .

Coriolanus

Indeed you shall not .
Methinks I hear hither your husband’s drum ,
See him pluck Aufidius down by th’ hair ;
As children from a bear , the Volsces shunning him .
Methinks I see him stamp thus and call thus :
Come on , you cowards ! You were got in fear ,
Though you were born in Rome . His bloody brow
With his mailed hand then wiping , forth he goes
Like to a harvestman that’s tasked to mow
Or all or lose his hire .

Coriolanus


His bloody brow ? O Jupiter , no blood !

Coriolanus


Away , you fool ! It more becomes a man
Than gilt his trophy . The breasts of Hecuba ,
When she did suckle Hector , looked not lovelier
Than Hector’s forehead when it spit forth blood
At Grecian sword , contemning . — Tell Valeria
We are fit to bid her welcome .

Coriolanus

He had rather see the swords and hear a
drum than look upon his schoolmaster .

Coriolanus

O’ my word , the father’s son ! I’ll swear ’tis a
very pretty boy . O’ my troth , I looked upon him o’
Wednesday half an hour together . H’as such a confirmed
countenance . I saw him run after a gilded
butterfly , and when he caught it , he let it go again ,
and after it again , and over and over he comes ,
and up again , catched it again . Or whether his fall
enraged him or how ’twas , he did so set his teeth
and tear it . O , I warrant how he mammocked it !

Coriolanus


All the contagion of the south light on you ,
You shames of Rome ! You herd of — Boils and
plagues
Plaster you o’er , that you may be abhorred
Farther than seen , and one infect another
Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese ,
That bear the shapes of men , how have you run
From slaves that apes would beat ! Pluto and hell !
All hurt behind . Backs red , and faces pale
With flight and agued fear ! Mend , and charge home ,
Or , by the fires of heaven , I’ll leave the foe
And make my wars on you . Look to ’t . Come on !
If you’ll stand fast , we’ll beat them to their wives ,
As they us to our trenches . Follow ’s !



So , now the gates are ope . Now prove good
seconds !
’Tis for the followers fortune widens them ,
Not for the fliers . Mark me , and do the like .

Coriolanus

O , noble fellow ,
Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword ,
And when it bows , stand’st up ! Thou art left ,
Martius .
A carbuncle entire , as big as thou art ,
Were not so rich a jewel . Thou wast a soldier
Even to Cato’s wish , not fierce and terrible
Only in strokes , but with thy grim looks and
The thunderlike percussion of thy sounds
Thou mad’st thine enemies shake , as if the world
Were feverous and did tremble .

Coriolanus

Look , sir .

Coriolanus

Sir , praise me not .
My work hath yet not warmed me . Fare you well .
The blood I drop is rather physical
Than dangerous to me . To Aufidius thus
I will appear and fight .

Coriolanus


Ay , if you come not in the blood of others ,
But mantled in your own .

Coriolanus

I do beseech you ,
By all the battles wherein we have fought ,
By th’ blood we have shed together , by th’ vows we
have made
To endure friends , that you directly set me
Against Aufidius and his Antiates ,
And that you not delay the present , but ,
Filling the air with swords advanced and darts ,
We prove this very hour .

Coriolanus

Within these three hours ,
Tullus ,
Alone I fought in your Corioles’ walls
And made what work I pleased . ’Tis not my blood
Wherein thou seest me masked . For thy revenge ,
Wrench up thy power to th’ highest .

Coriolanus

Pray now , no more . My mother ,
Who has a charter to extol her blood ,
When she does praise me grieves me . I have done
As you have done — that’s what I can ;
Induced as you have been — that’s for my country .
He that has but effected his good will
Hath overta’en mine act .

Coriolanus

Go we to our tent .
The blood upon your visage dries ; ’tis time
It should be looked to . Come .

Coriolanus

You know neither me , yourselves , nor anything .
You are ambitious for poor knaves’ caps
and legs . You wear out a good wholesome forenoon
in hearing a cause between an orange-wife
and a faucet-seller , and then rejourn the controversy
of threepence to a second day of audience .
When you are hearing a matter between party and
party , if you chance to be pinched with the colic ,
you make faces like mummers , set up the bloody
flag against all patience , and , in roaring for a
chamber pot , dismiss the controversy bleeding ,
the more entangled by your hearing . All the peace
you make in their cause is calling both the parties
knaves . You are a pair of strange ones .

Coriolanus

Look , here’s a letter from him . The state hath another , his wife another ,
and I think there’s one at home for you .

Coriolanus

Look , sir , your mother .

Coriolanus


I shall lack voice . The deeds of Coriolanus
Should not be uttered feebly . It is held
That valor is the chiefest virtue and
Most dignifies the haver ; if it be ,
The man I speak of cannot in the world
Be singly counterpoised . At sixteen years ,
When Tarquin made a head for Rome , he fought
Beyond the mark of others . Our then dictator ,
Whom with all praise I point at , saw him fight
When with his Amazonian chin he drove
The bristled lips before him . He bestrid
An o’erpressed Roman and i’ th’ Consul’s view
Slew three opposers . Tarquin’s self he met
And struck him on his knee . In that day’s feats ,
When he might act the woman in the scene ,
He proved best man i’ th’ field and for his meed
Was brow-bound with the oak . His pupil age
Man-entered thus , he waxèd like a sea ,
And in the brunt of seventeen battles since
He lurched all swords of the garland . For this last ,
Before and in Corioles , let me say ,
I cannot speak him home . He stopped the flyers
And by his rare example made the coward
Turn terror into sport . As weeds before
A vessel under sail , so men obeyed
And fell below his stem . His sword , Death’s stamp ,
Where it did mark , it took ; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood , whose every motion
Was timed with dying cries . Alone he entered
The mortal gate o’ th’ city , which he painted
With shunless destiny ; aidless came off
And with a sudden reinforcement struck
Corioles like a planet . Now all’s his ,
When by and by the din of war gan pierce
His ready sense ; then straight his doubled spirit
Requickened what in flesh was fatigate ,
And to the battle came he , where he did
Run reeking o’er the lives of men as if
’Twere a perpetual spoil ; and till we called
Both field and city ours , he never stood
To ease his breast with panting .

Coriolanus

Our spoils he kicked at
And looked upon things precious as they were
The common muck of the world . He covets less
Than misery itself would give , rewards
His deeds with doing them , and is content
To spend the time to end it .

Coriolanus

What must I say ?
I pray , sir ? — plague upon ’t ! I cannot bring
My tongue to such a pace . Look , sir , my wounds !
I got them in my country’s service when
Some certain of your brethren roared and ran
From th’ noise of our own drums .

Coriolanus

Fare you well .

He has it now ; and by his looks , methinks ,
’Tis warm at ’s heart .

Coriolanus

How ? No more ?
As for my country I have shed my blood ,
Not fearing outward force , so shall my lungs
Coin words till their decay against those measles
Which we disdain should tetter us , yet sought
The very way to catch them .

Coriolanus


O , he’s a limb that has but a disease —
Mortal to cut it off ; to cure it easy .
What has he done to Rome that’s worthy death ?
Killing our enemies , the blood he hath lost —
Which I dare vouch is more than that he hath
By many an ounce — he dropped it for his country ;
And what is left , to lose it by his country
Were to us all that do ’t and suffer it
A brand to th’ end o’ th’ world .

Coriolanus

Noble tribunes ,
It is the humane way : the other course
Will prove too bloody , and the end of it
Unknown to the beginning .

Coriolanus


Because that now it lies you on to speak
To th’ people , not by your own instruction ,
Nor by th’ matter which your heart prompts you ,
But with such words that are but roted in
Your tongue , though but bastards and syllables
Of no allowance to your bosom’s truth .
Now , this no more dishonors you at all
Than to take in a town with gentle words ,
Which else would put you to your fortune and
The hazard of much blood .
I would dissemble with my nature where
My fortunes and my friends at stake required
I should do so in honor . I am in this
Your wife , your son , these senators , the nobles ;
And you will rather show our general louts
How you can frown than spend a fawn upon ’em
For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard
Of what that want might ruin .

Coriolanus

Pray be content .
Mother , I am going to the marketplace .
Chide me no more . I’ll mountebank their loves ,
Cog their hearts from them , and come home
beloved
Of all the trades in Rome . Look , I am going .
Commend me to my wife . I’ll return consul ,
Or never trust to what my tongue can do
I’ th’ way of flattery further .

Coriolanus

Go about it .

Put him to choler straight . He hath been used
Ever to conquer and to have his worth
Of contradiction . Being once chafed , he cannot
Be reined again to temperance ; then he speaks
What’s in his heart , and that is there which looks
With us to break his neck .

Coriolanus

A strange one as ever I looked on . I
cannot get him out o’ th’ house . Prithee , call my
master to him .

Coriolanus


My name is Caius Martius , who hath done
To thee particularly and to all the Volsces
Great hurt and mischief ; thereto witness may
My surname Coriolanus . The painful service ,
The extreme dangers , and the drops of blood
Shed for my thankless country are requited
But with that surname , a good memory
And witness of the malice and displeasure
Which thou shouldst bear me . Only that name
remains .
The cruelty and envy of the people ,
Permitted by our dastard nobles , who
Have all forsook me , hath devoured the rest ,
And suffered me by th’ voice of slaves to be
Whooped out of Rome . Now this extremity
Hath brought me to thy hearth , not out of hope —
Mistake me not — to save my life ; for if
I had feared death , of all the men i’ th’ world
I would have ’voided thee , but in mere spite ,
To be full quit of those my banishers ,
Stand I before thee here . Then if thou hast
A heart of wreak in thee , that wilt revenge
Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims
Of shame seen through thy country , speed thee
straight
And make my misery serve thy turn . So use it
That my revengeful services may prove
As benefits to thee , for I will fight
Against my cankered country with the spleen
Of all the under fiends . But if so be
Thou dar’st not this , and that to prove more fortunes
Thou ’rt tired , then , in a word , I also am
Longer to live most weary , and present
My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice ,
Which not to cut would show thee but a fool ,
Since I have ever followed thee with hate ,
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country’s breast ,
And cannot live but to thy shame , unless
It be to do thee service .

Coriolanus

O Martius , Martius ,
Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my
heart
A root of ancient envy . If Jupiter
Should from yond cloud speak divine things
And say ’tis true , I’d not believe them more
Than thee , all-noble Martius . Let me twine
Mine arms about that body , whereagainst
My grainèd ash an hundred times hath broke
And scarred the moon with splinters .

Here I clip
The anvil of my sword and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valor . Know thou first ,
I loved the maid I married ; never man
Sighed truer breath . But that I see thee here ,
Thou noble thing , more dances my rapt heart
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold . Why , thou Mars , I tell thee
We have a power on foot , and I had purpose
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn
Or lose mine arm for ’t . Thou hast beat me out
Twelve several times , and I have nightly since
Dreamt of encounters ’twixt thyself and me ;
We have been down together in my sleep ,
Unbuckling helms , fisting each other’s throat ,
And waked half dead with nothing . Worthy Martius ,
Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that
Thou art thence banished , we would muster all
From twelve to seventy and , pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome ,
Like a bold flood o’erbear ’t . O , come , go in ,
And take our friendly senators by th’ hands ,
Who now are here , taking their leaves of me ,
Who am prepared against your territories ,
Though not for Rome itself .

Coriolanus

He had so , looking as it were —
Would I were hanged but I thought there was
more in him than I could think .

Coriolanus

Faith , look you , one cannot tell
how to say that . For the defense of a town our general
is excellent .

Coriolanus

Do ’t ? He will do ’t ! For , look you ,
sir , he has as many friends as enemies , which
friends , sir , as it were , durst not , look you , sir , show
themselves , as we term it , his friends whilest he’s
in directitude .

Coriolanus

But when they shall see , sir , his
crest up again , and the man in blood , they will out
of their burrows like coneys after rain , and revel
all with him .

Coriolanus

Ay , and you’ll look pale
Before you find it other . All the regions
Do smilingly revolt , and who resists
Are mocked for valiant ignorance
And perish constant fools . Who is ’t can blame him ?
Your enemies and his find something in him .

Coriolanus

I’ll undertake ’t .
I think he’ll hear me . Yet to bite his lip
And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me .
He was not taken well ; he had not dined .
The veins unfilled , our blood is cold , and then
We pout upon the morning , are unapt
To give or to forgive ; but when we have stuffed
These pipes and these conveyances of our blood
With wine and feeding , we have suppler souls
Than in our priestlike fasts . Therefore I’ll watch him
Till he be dieted to my request ,
And then I’ll set upon him .

Coriolanus

My general cares not for you . Back , I say ,
go , lest I let forth your half pint of blood . Back !
That’s the utmost of your having . Back !

Coriolanus

Now , you companion , I’ll
say an errand for you . You shall know now that I
am in estimation ; you shall perceive that a Jack
guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus .
Guess but by my entertainment with him
if thou stand’st not i’ th’ state of hanging or of some
death more long in spectatorship and crueler in
suffering ; behold now presently , and swoon for
what’s to come upon thee . The
glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular
prosperity and love thee no worse than thy old
father Menenius does ! O my son , my son ! Thou art preparing fire for us ; look thee ,
here’s water to quench it . I was hardly moved to
come to thee ; but being assured none but myself
could move thee , I have been blown out of your
gates with sighs , and conjure thee to pardon Rome
and thy petitionary countrymen . The good gods
assuage thy wrath and turn the dregs of it upon
this varlet here , this , who , like a block , hath denied
my access to thee .

Coriolanus

This last old man ,
Whom with a cracked heart I have sent to Rome ,
Loved me above the measure of a father ,
Nay , godded me indeed . Their latest refuge
Was to send him , for whose old love I have —
Though I showed sourly to him — once more offered
The first conditions , which they did refuse
And cannot now accept , to grace him only
That thought he could do more . A very little
I have yielded to . Fresh embassies and suits ,
Nor from the state nor private friends , hereafter
Will I lend ear to .
Ha ? What shout is this ?
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time ’tis made ? I will not .



My wife comes foremost , then the honored mold
Wherein this trunk was framed , and in her hand
The grandchild to her blood . But out , affection !
All bond and privilege of nature , break !
Let it be virtuous to be obstinate .
What is that curtsy worth ? Or those doves’ eyes ,
Which can make gods forsworn ? I melt and am not
Of stronger earth than others .
My mother bows ,
As if Olympus to a molehill should
In supplication nod ; and my young boy
Hath an aspect of intercession which
Great Nature cries Deny not ! Let the Volsces
Plow Rome and harrow Italy , I’ll never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct , but stand
As if a man were author of himself ,
And knew no other kin .

Coriolanus


Should we be silent and not speak , our raiment
And state of bodies would bewray what life
We have led since thy exile . Think with thyself
How more unfortunate than all living women
Are we come hither ; since that thy sight , which
should
Make our eyes flow with joy , hearts dance with
comforts ,
Constrains them weep and shake with fear and
sorrow ,
Making the mother , wife , and child to see
The son , the husband , and the father tearing
His country’s bowels out . And to poor we
Thine enmity’s most capital . Thou barr’st us
Our prayers to the gods , which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy . For how can we —
Alas , how can we — for our country pray ,
Whereto we are bound , together with thy victory ,
Whereto we are bound ? Alack , or we must lose
The country , our dear nurse , or else thy person ,
Our comfort in the country . We must find
An evident calamity , though we had
Our wish , which side should win , for either thou
Must as a foreign recreant be led
With manacles through our streets , or else
Triumphantly tread on thy country’s ruin
And bear the palm for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children’s blood . For myself , son ,
I purpose not to wait on fortune till
These wars determine . If I cannot persuade thee
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts
Than seek the end of one , thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy country than to tread —
Trust to ’t , thou shalt not — on thy mother’s womb
That brought thee to this world .

Coriolanus

O mother , mother !
What have you done ? Behold , the heavens do ope ,
The gods look down , and this unnatural scene
They laugh at . O , my mother , mother , O !
You have won a happy victory to Rome ,
But , for your son — believe it , O , believe it ! —
Most dangerously you have with him prevailed ,
If not most mortal to him . But let it come . —
Aufidius , though I cannot make true wars ,
I’ll frame convenient peace . Now , good Aufidius ,
Were you in my stead , would you have heard
A mother less ? Or granted less , Aufidius ?

Coriolanus

So he did , my lord .
The army marvelled at it , and , in the last ,
When he had carried Rome and that we looked
For no less spoil than glory —

Coriolanus

There was it
For which my sinews shall be stretched upon him .
At a few drops of women’s rheum , which are
As cheap as lies , he sold the blood and labor
Of our great action . Therefore shall he die ,
And I’ll renew me in his fall . But hark !

Coriolanus


Hail , lords ! I am returned your soldier ,
No more infected with my country’s love
Than when I parted hence , but still subsisting
Under your great command . You are to know
That prosperously I have attempted , and
With bloody passage led your wars even to
The gates of Rome . Our spoils we have brought
home
Doth more than counterpoise a full third part
The charges of the action . We have made peace
With no less honor to the Antiates
Than shame to th’ Romans , and we here deliver ,
Subscribed by’ th’ Consuls and patricians ,
Together with the seal o’ th’ Senate , what
We have compounded on .

Coriolanus


Ay , Martius , Caius Martius . Dost thou think
I’ll grace thee with that robbery , thy stol’n name
Coriolanus , in Corioles ?
You lords and heads o’ th’ state , perfidiously
He has betrayed your business and given up
For certain drops of salt your city Rome —
I say your city — to his wife and mother ,
Breaking his oath and resolution like
A twist of rotten silk , never admitting
Counsel o’ th’ war , but at his nurse’s tears
He whined and roared away your victory ,
That pages blushed at him and men of heart
Looked wond’ring each at other .

Cymbeline


You do not meet a man but frowns . Our bloods
No more obey the heavens than our courtiers’
Still seem as does the King’s .

Cymbeline


He that hath lost her , too . So is the Queen ,
That most desired the match . But not a courtier ,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the King’s looks , hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at .

Cymbeline

Nay , stay a little !
Were you but riding forth to air yourself ,
Such parting were too petty . Look here , love :
This diamond was my mother’s . Take it , heart ,
But keep it till you woo another wife
When Imogen is dead .

Cymbeline


Thou basest thing , avoid hence , from my sight !
If after this command thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness , thou diest . Away !
Thou ’rt poison to my blood .

Cymbeline

Nay , let her languish
A drop of blood a day , and being aged
Die of this folly .

Cymbeline

If my shirt were bloody , then to shift it . Have I
hurt him ?

Cymbeline


I would have broke mine eyestrings , cracked them ,
but
To look upon him till the diminution
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle ;
Nay , followed him till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat to air ; and then
Have turned mine eye and wept . But , good Pisanio ,
When shall we hear from him ?

Cymbeline

Believe it , sir , I have seen him in Britain . He
was then of a crescent note , expected to prove so
worthy as since he hath been allowed the name of .
But I could then have looked on him without the
help of admiration , though the catalogue of his
endowments had been tabled by his side and I to
peruse him by items .

Cymbeline

Safely , I think . ’Twas a contention in public ,
which may without contradiction suffer the report .
It was much like an argument that fell out
last night , where each of us fell in praise of our
country mistresses , this gentleman at that time
vouching — and upon warrant of bloody affirmation —
his to be more fair , virtuous , wise , chaste ,
constant , qualified , and less attemptable than any
the rarest of our ladies in France .

Cymbeline


Ay , madam , with his eyes in flood with laughter .
It is a recreation to be by
And hear him mock the Frenchman . But heavens
know
Some men are much to blame .

Cymbeline

Am I one , sir ?
You look on me . What wrack discern you in me
Deserves your pity ?

Cymbeline

Is it fit I went to look upon him ? Is there no
derogation in ’t ?

Cymbeline


Your very goodness and your company
O’erpays all I can do . By this , your king
Hath heard of great Augustus . Caius Lucius
Will do ’s commission throughly . And I think
He’ll grant the tribute , send th’ arrearages ,
Or look upon our Romans , whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief .

Cymbeline

Your lady
Is one of the fairest that I have looked upon .

Cymbeline


And therewithal the best , or let her beauty
Look thorough a casement to allure false hearts
And be false with them .

Cymbeline


O , no , no , no , ’tis true . Here , take this too .

It is a basilisk unto mine eye ,
Kills me to look on ’t . Let there be no honor
Where there is beauty , truth where semblance , love
Where there’s another man . The vows of women
Of no more bondage be to where they are made
Than they are to their virtues , which is nothing .
O , above measure false !

Cymbeline


Is there no way for men to be , but women
Must be half-workers ? We are all bastards ,
And that most venerable man which I
Did call my father was I know not where
When I was stamped . Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit ; yet my mother seemed
The Dian of that time ; so doth my wife
The nonpareil of this . O , vengeance , vengeance !
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrained
And prayed me oft forbearance ; did it with
A pudency so rosy the sweet view on ’t
Might well have warmed old Saturn , that I thought
her
As chaste as unsunned snow . O , all the devils !
This yellow Iachimo in an hour , was ’t not ?
Or less ? At first ? Perchance he spoke not , but ,
Like a full-acorned boar , a German one ,
Cried O ! and mounted ; found no opposition
But what he looked for should oppose and she
Should from encounter guard . Could I find out
The woman’s part in me — for there’s no motion
That tends to vice in man but I affirm
It is the woman’s part : be it lying , note it ,
The woman’s ; flattering , hers ; deceiving , hers ;
Lust and rank thoughts , hers , hers ; revenges , hers ;
Ambitions , covetings , change of prides , disdain ,
Nice longing , slanders , mutability ,
All faults that have a name , nay , that hell knows ,
Why , hers , in part or all , but rather all .
For even to vice
They are not constant , but are changing still
One vice but of a minute old for one
Not half so old as that . I’ll write against them ,
Detest them , curse them . Yet ’tis greater skill
In a true hate to pray they have their will ;
The very devils cannot plague them better .

Cymbeline

I am sorry , Cymbeline ,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar —
Caesar , that hath more kings his servants than
Thyself domestic officers — thine enemy .
Receive it from me , then : war and confusion
In Caesar’s name pronounce I ’gainst thee . Look
For fury not to be resisted . Thus defied ,
I thank thee for myself .

Cymbeline


How ? Of adultery ? Wherefore write you not
What monsters her accuse ? Leonatus ,
O master , what a strange infection
Is fall’n into thy ear ! What false Italian ,
As poisonous-tongued as handed , hath prevailed
On thy too ready hearing ? Disloyal ? No .
She’s punished for her truth and undergoes ,
More goddesslike than wifelike , such assaults
As would take in some virtue . O my master ,
Thy mind to her is now as low as were
Thy fortunes . How ? That I should murder her ,
Upon the love and truth and vows which I
Have made to thy command ? I her ? Her blood ?
If it be so to do good service , never
Let me be counted serviceable . How look I
That I should seem to lack humanity
So much as this fact comes to ? Do ’t !
The letter
That I have sent her , by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity . O damned paper ,
Black as the ink that’s on thee ! Senseless bauble ,
Art thou a fedary for this act , and look’st
So virginlike without ? Lo , here she comes .



I am ignorant in what I am commanded .

Cymbeline


I see before me , man . Nor here , nor here ,
Nor what ensues , but have a fog in them
That I cannot look through . Away , I prithee .
Do as I bid thee . There’s no more to say .
Accessible is none but Milford way .

Cymbeline


How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature !
These boys know little they are sons to th’ King ,
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive .
They think they are mine , and , though trained up
thus meanly ,
I’ th’ cave wherein they bow , their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces , and nature prompts them
In simple and low things to prince it much
Beyond the trick of others . This Polydor ,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain , who
The King his father called Guiderius — Jove !
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
The warlike feats I have done , his spirits fly out
Into my story ; say Thus mine enemy fell ,
And thus I set my foot on ’s neck , even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek , he sweats ,
Strains his young nerves , and puts himself in posture
That acts my words . The younger brother , Cadwal ,
Once Arviragus , in as like a figure
Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
His own conceiving . Hark , the game is roused !
O Cymbeline , heaven and my conscience knows
Thou didst unjustly banish me ; whereon ,
At three and two years old I stole these babes ,
Thinking to bar thee of succession as
Thou refts me of my lands . Euriphile ,
Thou wast their nurse ; they took thee for their
mother ,
And every day do honor to her grave .
Myself , Belarius , that am Morgan called ,
They take for natural father . The game is up !

Cymbeline


Thou told’st me , when we came from horse , the place
Was near at hand . Ne’er longed my mother so
To see me first as I have now . Pisanio , man ,
Where is Posthumus ? What is in thy mind
That makes thee stare thus ? Wherefore breaks that
sigh
From th’ inward of thee ? One but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplexed
Beyond self-explication . Put thyself
Into a havior of less fear , ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses . What’s the matter ?

Why tender’st thou that paper to me with
A look untender ? If ’t be summer news ,
Smile to ’t before ; if winterly , thou need’st
But keep that count’nance still . My husband’s hand !
That drug-damned Italy hath out-craftied him ,
And he’s at some hard point . Speak , man ! Thy tongue
May take off some extremity , which to read
Would be even mortal to me .

Cymbeline


I false ? Thy conscience witness ! Iachimo ,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency .
Thou then looked’st like a villain . Now methinks
Thy favor’s good enough . Some jay of Italy ,
Whose mother was her painting , hath betrayed him .
Poor I am stale , a garment out of fashion ,
And , for I am richer than to hang by th’ walls ,
I must be ripped . To pieces with me ! O ,
Men’s vows are women’s traitors ! All good seeming ,
By thy revolt , O husband , shall be thought
Put on for villainy , not born where ’t grows ,
But worn a bait for ladies .

Cymbeline


True honest men , being heard like false Aeneas ,
Were in his time thought false , and Sinon’s weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear , took pity
From most true wretchedness . So thou , Posthumus ,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ;
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
From thy great fail . — Come , fellow , be thou honest ;
Do thou thy master’s bidding . When thou seest him ,
A little witness my obedience . Look ,
I draw the sword myself .

Take it , and hit
The innocent mansion of my love , my heart .
Fear not ; ’tis empty of all things but grief .
Thy master is not there , who was indeed
The riches of it . Do his bidding ; strike .
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause ,
But now thou seem’st a coward .

Cymbeline

No , on my life .
I’ll give but notice you are dead , and send him
Some bloody sign of it , for ’tis commanded
I should do so . You shall be missed at court ,
And that will well confirm it .

Cymbeline

’Tis not sleepy business ,
But must be looked to speedily and strongly .

Cymbeline


Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made us forward . But , my gentle queen ,
Where is our daughter ? She hath not appeared
Before the Roman , nor to us hath tendered
The duty of the day . She looks us like
A thing more made of malice than of duty .
We have noted it . — Call her before us , for
We have been too slight in sufferance .

Cymbeline

Go , look after .

Pisanio , thou that stand’st so for Posthumus —
He hath a drug of mine . I pray his absence
Proceed by swallowing that , for he believes
It is a thing most precious . But for her ,
Where is she gone ? Haply despair hath seized her ,
Or , winged with fervor of her love , she’s flown
To her desired Posthumus . Gone she is
To death or to dishonor , and my end
Can make good use of either . She being down ,
I have the placing of the British crown .



How now , my son ?

Cymbeline


I see a man’s life is a tedious one .
I have tired myself , and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed . I should be sick
But that my resolution helps me . Milford ,
When from the mountain top Pisanio showed thee ,
Thou wast within a ken . O Jove , I think
Foundations fly the wretched — such , I mean ,
Where they should be relieved . Two beggars told me
I could not miss my way . Will poor folks lie ,
That have afflictions on them , knowing ’tis
A punishment or trial ? Yes . No wonder ,
When rich ones scarce tell true . To lapse in fullness
Is sorer than to lie for need , and falsehood
Is worse in kings than beggars . My dear lord ,
Thou art one o’ th’ false ones . Now I think on thee ,
My hunger’s gone ; but even before , I was
At point to sink for food . But what is this ?
Here is a path to ’t . ’Tis some savage hold .
I were best not call ; I dare not call . Yet famine ,
Ere clean it o’erthrow nature , makes it valiant .
Plenty and peace breeds cowards ; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother . — Ho ! Who’s here ?
If anything that’s civil , speak ; if savage ,
Take or lend . Ho ! — No answer ? Then I’ll enter .
Best draw my sword ; an if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me , he’ll scarcely look on ’t .

Such a foe , good heavens !

Cymbeline


Stay , come
not in !
But that it eats our victuals , I should think
Here were a fairy .

Cymbeline

Good masters , harm me not .
Before I entered here , I called , and thought
To have begged or bought what I have took . Good
troth ,
I have stol’n naught , nor would not , though I had
found
Gold strewed i’ th’ floor . Here’s money for my meat .

I would have left it on the board so soon
As I had made my meal , and parted
With prayers for the provider .

Cymbeline

Poor sick Fidele .
I’ll willingly to him . To gain his color
I’d let a parish of such Clotens blood ,
And praise myself for charity .

Cymbeline

O thou goddess ,
Thou divine Nature , thou thyself thou blazon’st
In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle
As zephyrs blowing below the violet ,
Not wagging his sweet head ; and yet as rough ,
Their royal blood enchafed , as the rud’st wind
That by the top doth take the mountain pine
And make him stoop to th’ vale . ’Tis wonder
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearned , honor untaught ,
Civility not seen from other , valor
That wildly grows in them but yields a crop
As if it had been sowed . Yet still it’s strange
What Cloten’s being here to us portends ,
Or what his death will bring us .

Cymbeline

Look , here he comes ,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms
Of what we blame him for .

Cymbeline

O’ th’ floor ,
His arms thus leagued . I thought he slept , and put
My clouted brogues from off my feet , whose rudeness
Answered my steps too loud .

Cymbeline


Yes , sir , to Milford Haven . Which is the way ?
I thank you . By yond bush ? Pray , how far thither ?
Ods pittikins , can it be six mile yet ?
I have gone all night . Faith , I’ll lie down and sleep .

But soft ! No bedfellow ? O gods and goddesses !
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world ,
This bloody man the care on ’t . I hope I dream ,
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper
And cook to honest creatures . But ’tis not so .
’Twas but a bolt of nothing , shot at nothing ,
Which the brain makes of fumes . Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments , blind . Good faith ,
I tremble still with fear ; but if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren’s eye , feared gods , a part of it !
The dream’s here still . Even when I wake it is
Without me as within me , not imagined , felt .
A headless man ? The garments of Posthumus ?
I know the shape of ’s leg . This is his hand ,
His foot Mercurial , his Martial thigh ,
The brawns of Hercules ; but his Jovial face —
Murder in heaven ! How ? ’Tis gone . Pisanio ,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks ,
And mine to boot , be darted on thee ! Thou ,
Conspired with that irregulous devil Cloten ,
Hath here cut off my lord . To write and read
Be henceforth treacherous . Damned Pisanio
Hath with his forgèd letters — damned Pisanio —
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the maintop . O Posthumus , alas ,
Where is thy head ? Where’s that ? Ay me , where’s that ?
Pisanio might have killed thee at the heart
And left this head on . How should this be ? Pisanio ?
’Tis he and Cloten . Malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here . O , ’tis pregnant , pregnant !
The drug he gave me , which he said was precious
And cordial to me , have I not found it
Murd’rous to th’ senses ? That confirms it home .
This is Pisanio’s deed , and Cloten . O ,
Give color to my pale cheek with thy blood ,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us . O my lord ! My lord !

Cymbeline

This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair . Command our present numbers
Be mustered ; bid the Captains look to ’t . — Now , sir ,
What have you dreamed of late of this war’s purpose ?

Cymbeline


He’ll then instruct us of this body . — Young one ,
Inform us of thy fortunes , for it seems
They crave to be demanded . Who is this
Thou mak’st thy bloody pillow ? Or who was he
That , otherwise than noble nature did ,
Hath altered that good picture ? What’s thy interest
In this sad wrack ? How came ’t ? Who is ’t ?
What art thou ?

Cymbeline

By this sun that shines ,
I’ll thither . What thing is ’t that I never
Did see man die , scarce ever looked on blood
But that of coward hares , hot goats , and venison !
Never bestrid a horse save one that had
A rider like myself , who ne’er wore rowel
Nor iron on his heel ! I am ashamed
To look upon the holy sun , to have
The benefit of his blest beams , remaining
So long a poor unknown .

Cymbeline


No reason I — since of your lives you set
So slight a valuation — should reserve
My cracked one to more care . Have with you , boys !
If in your country wars you chance to die ,
That is my bed , too , lads , and there I’ll lie .
Lead , lead . The time seems long ; their
blood thinks scorn
Till it fly out and show them princes born .

Cymbeline


Yea , bloody cloth , I’ll keep thee , for I wished
Thou shouldst be colored thus . You married ones ,
If each of you should take this course , how many
Must murder wives much better than themselves
For wrying but a little ! O Pisanio ,
Every good servant does not all commands ;
No bond but to do just ones . Gods , if you
Should have ta’en vengeance on my faults , I never
Had lived to put on this ; so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent , and struck
Me , wretch more worth your vengeance . But , alack ,
You snatch some hence for little faults ; that’s love ,
To have them fall no more ; you some permit
To second ills with ills , each elder worse ,
And make them dread it , to the doers’ thrift .
But Imogen is your own . Do your best wills ,
And make me blest to obey . I am brought hither
Among th’ Italian gentry , and to fight
Against my lady’s kingdom . ’Tis enough
That , Britain , I have killed thy mistress . Peace ,
I’ll give no wound to thee . Therefore , good heavens ,
Hear patiently my purpose . I’ll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant . So I’ll fight
Against the part I come with ; so I’ll die
For thee , O Imogen , even for whom my life
Is every breath a death . And thus , unknown ,
Pitied nor hated , to the face of peril
Myself I’ll dedicate . Let me make men know
More valor in me than my habits show .
Gods , put the strength o’ th’ Leonati in me .
To shame the guise o’ th’ world , I will begin
The fashion : less without and more within .

Cymbeline


Close by the battle , ditched , and walled with turf ;
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier ,
An honest one , I warrant , who deserved
So long a breeding as his white beard came to ,
In doing this for ’s country . Athwart the lane ,
He with two striplings — lads more like to run
The country base than to commit such slaughter ,
With faces fit for masks , or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cased or shame —
Made good the passage , cried to those that fled
Our Britain’s harts die flying , not our men .
To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards . Stand ,
Or we are Romans and will give you that
Like beasts which you shun beastly , and may save
But to look back in frown . Stand , stand ! These three ,
Three thousand confident , in act as many —
For three performers are the file when all
The rest do nothing — with this word Stand , stand ,
Accommodated by the place , more charming
With their own nobleness , which could have turned
A distaff to a lance , gilded pale looks ,
Part shame , part spirit renewed ; that some , turned
coward
But by example — O , a sin in war ,
Damned in the first beginners ! — gan to look
The way that they did and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o’ th’ hunters . Then began
A stop i’ th’ chaser , a retire ; anon
A rout , confusion thick . Forthwith they fly
Chickens the way which they stooped eagles ; slaves
The strides they victors made ; and now our
cowards ,
Like fragments in hard voyages , became
The life o’ th’ need . Having found the backdoor open
Of the unguarded hearts , heavens , how they wound !
Some slain before , some dying , some their friends
O’erborne i’ th’ former wave , ten chased by one ,
Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty .
Those that would die or ere resist are grown
The mortal bugs o’ th’ field .

Cymbeline


Thy crystal window ope ; look out .
No longer exercise
Upon a valiant race thy harsh
And potent injuries .

Cymbeline

Indeed , sir , he that sleeps feels not the
toothache . But a man that were to sleep your
sleep , and a hangman to help him to bed , I think
he would change places with his officer ; for , look
you , sir , you know not which way you shall go .

Cymbeline

I never saw
Such noble fury in so poor a thing ,
Such precious deeds in one that promised naught
But beggary and poor looks .

Cymbeline

Bow your knees .

Arise my knights o’ th’ battle . I create you
Companions to our person , and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates .



There’s business in these faces . Why so sadly
Greet you our victory ? You look like Romans ,
And not o’ th’ court of Britain .

Cymbeline


Consider , sir , the chance of war . The day
Was yours by accident . Had it gone with us ,
We should not , when the blood was cool , have
threatened
Our prisoners with the sword . But since the gods
Will have it thus , that nothing but our lives
May be called ransom , let it come . Sufficeth
A Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer .
Augustus lives to think on ’t ; and so much
For my peculiar care . This one thing only
I will entreat : my boy , a Briton born ,
Let him be ransomed . Never master had
A page so kind , so duteous , diligent ,
So tender over his occasions , true ,
So feat , so nurselike . Let his virtue join
With my request , which I’ll make bold your Highness
Cannot deny . He hath done no Briton harm ,
Though he have served a Roman . Save him , sir ,
And spare no blood beside .

Cymbeline

I have surely seen him .
His favor is familiar to me . — Boy ,
Thou hast looked thyself into my grace
And art mine own . I know not why , wherefore ,
To say Live , boy . Ne’er thank thy master . Live ,
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt ,
Fitting my bounty and thy state , I’ll give it ,
Yea , though thou do demand a prisoner ,
The noblest ta’en .

Cymbeline

What would’st thou , boy ?
I love thee more and more . Think more and more
What’s best to ask . Know’st him thou look’st on ?
Speak .
Wilt have him live ? Is he thy kin ? Thy friend ?

Cymbeline

That paragon , thy daughter ,
For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits
Quail to remember — Give me leave ; I faint .

Cymbeline


I am too blunt and saucy . Here’s my knee .

Ere I arise I will prefer my sons ,
Then spare not the old father . Mighty sir ,
These two young gentlemen that call me father
And think they are my sons are none of mine .
They are the issue of your loins , my liege ,
And blood of your begetting .

Cymbeline

Laud we the gods ,
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blest altars . Publish we this peace
To all our subjects . Set we forward . Let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together . So through Lud’s Town march ,
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we’ll ratify , seal it with feasts .
Set on there . Never was a war did cease ,
Ere bloody hands were washed , with such a peace .

Hamlet


Peace , break thee off ! Look where it comes again .

Hamlet


Looks he not like the King ? Mark it , Horatio .

Hamlet


How now , Horatio , you tremble and look pale .
Is not this something more than fantasy ?
What think you on ’t ?

Hamlet


A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye .
In the most high and palmy state of Rome ,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell ,
The graves stood tenantless , and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets ;
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood ,
Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star ,
Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands ,
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse .
And even the like precurse of feared events ,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And prologue to the omen coming on ,
Have heaven and Earth earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen .



But soft , behold ! Lo , where it comes again !
I’ll cross it though it blast me . — Stay , illusion !

If thou hast any sound or use of voice ,
Speak to me .
If there be any good thing to be done
That may to thee do ease and grace to me ,
Speak to me .
If thou art privy to thy country’s fate ,
Which happily foreknowing may avoid ,
O , speak !
Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth ,
For which , they say , you spirits oft walk in death ,
Speak of it .
Stay and speak ! — Stop it , Marcellus .

Hamlet


So have I heard and do in part believe it .
But look , the morn in russet mantle clad
Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill .
Break we our watch up , and by my advice
Let us impart what we have seen tonight
Unto young Hamlet ; for , upon my life ,
This spirit , dumb to us , will speak to him .
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it
As needful in our loves , fitting our duty ?

Hamlet


Good Hamlet , cast thy nighted color off ,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark .
Do not forever with thy vailèd lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust .
Thou know’st ’tis common ; all that lives must die ,
Passing through nature to eternity .

Hamlet


He was a man . Take him for all in all ,
I shall not look upon his like again .

Hamlet

What , looked he frowningly ?

Hamlet


For Hamlet , and the trifling of his favor ,
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood ,
A violet in the youth of primy nature ,
Forward , not permanent , sweet , not lasting ,
The perfume and suppliance of a minute ,
No more .

Hamlet


Yet here , Laertes ? Aboard , aboard , for shame !
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail ,
And you are stayed for . There , my blessing with
thee .
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character . Give thy thoughts no tongue ,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act .
Be thou familiar , but by no means vulgar .
Those friends thou hast , and their adoption tried ,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel ,
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatched , unfledged courage . Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel , but , being in ,
Bear ’t that th’ opposèd may beware of thee .
Give every man thy ear , but few thy voice .
Take each man’s censure , but reserve thy judgment .
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy ,
But not expressed in fancy ( rich , not gaudy ) ,
For the apparel oft proclaims the man ,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that .
Neither a borrower nor a lender be ,
For loan oft loses both itself and friend ,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry .
This above all : to thine own self be true ,
And it must follow , as the night the day ,
Thou canst not then be false to any man .
Farewell . My blessing season this in thee .

Hamlet


Ay , springes to catch woodcocks . I do know ,
When the blood burns , how prodigal the soul
Lends the tongue vows . These blazes , daughter ,
Giving more light than heat , extinct in both
Even in their promise as it is a-making ,
You must not take for fire . From this time
Be something scanter of your maiden presence .
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Than a command to parle . For Lord Hamlet ,
Believe so much in him that he is young ,
And with a larger tether may he walk
Than may be given you . In few , Ophelia ,
Do not believe his vows , for they are brokers ,
Not of that dye which their investments show ,
But mere implorators of unholy suits ,
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds
The better to beguile . This is for all :
I would not , in plain terms , from this time forth
Have you so slander any moment leisure
As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet .
Look to ’t , I charge you . Come your ways .

Hamlet

Look , my lord , it comes .

Hamlet

Look with what courteous action
It waves you to a more removèd ground .
But do not go with it .

Hamlet


What if it tempt you toward the flood , my lord ?
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles o’er his base into the sea ,
And there assume some other horrible form
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason
And draw you into madness ? Think of it .
The very place puts toys of desperation ,
Without more motive , into every brain
That looks so many fathoms to the sea
And hears it roar beneath .

Hamlet

I am thy father’s spirit ,
Doomed for a certain term to walk the night
And for the day confined to fast in fires
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged away . But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house ,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul , freeze thy young blood ,
Make thy two eyes , like stars , start from their
spheres ,
Thy knotted and combinèd locks to part ,
And each particular hair to stand an end ,
Like quills upon the fearful porpentine .
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood . List , list , O list !
If thou didst ever thy dear father love —

Hamlet


Ay , that incestuous , that adulterate beast ,
With witchcraft of his wits wit , with traitorous gifts —
O wicked wit and gifts , that have the power
So to seduce ! — won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen .
O Hamlet , what a falling off was there !
From me , whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the vow
I made to her in marriage , and to decline
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
To those of mine .
But virtue , as it never will be moved ,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven ,
So , lust , though to a radiant angel linked ,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed
And prey on garbage .
But soft , methinks I scent the morning air .
Brief let me be . Sleeping within my orchard ,
My custom always of the afternoon ,
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole ,
With juice of cursèd hebona in a vial ,
And in the porches of my ears did pour
The leprous distilment , whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man
That swift as quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body ,
And with a sudden vigor it doth posset
And curd , like eager droppings into milk ,
The thin and wholesome blood . So did it mine ,
And a most instant tetter barked about ,
Most lazar-like , with vile and loathsome crust
All my smooth body .
Thus was I , sleeping , by a brother’s hand
Of life , of crown , of queen at once dispatched ,
Cut off , even in the blossoms of my sin ,
Unhouseled , disappointed , unaneled ,
No reck’ning made , but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head .
O horrible , O horrible , most horrible !
If thou hast nature in thee , bear it not .
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damnèd incest .
But , howsomever thou pursues this act ,
Taint not thy mind , nor let thy soul contrive
Against thy mother aught . Leave her to heaven
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge
To prick and sting her . Fare thee well at once .
The glowworm shows the matin to be near
And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire .
Adieu , adieu , adieu . Remember me .

Hamlet


Marry , well said , very well said . Look you , sir ,
Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ;
And how , and who , what means , and where they
keep ,
What company , at what expense ; and finding
By this encompassment and drift of question
That they do know my son , come you more nearer
Than your particular demands will touch it .
Take you , as ’twere , some distant knowledge of him ,
As thus : I know his father and his friends
And , in part , him . Do you mark this , Reynaldo ?

Hamlet


Faith , no , as you may season it in the charge .
You must not put another scandal on him
That he is open to incontinency ;
That’s not my meaning . But breathe his faults so
quaintly
That they may seem the taints of liberty ,
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind ,
A savageness in unreclaimèd blood ,
Of general assault .

Hamlet


My lord , as I was sewing in my closet ,
Lord Hamlet , with his doublet all unbraced ,
No hat upon his head , his stockings fouled ,
Ungartered , and down-gyvèd to his ankle ,
Pale as his shirt , his knees knocking each other ,
And with a look so piteous in purport
As if he had been loosèd out of hell
To speak of horrors — he comes before me .

Hamlet


Most fair return of greetings and desires .
Upon our first , he sent out to suppress
His nephew’s levies , which to him appeared
To be a preparation ’gainst the Polack ,
But , better looked into , he truly found
It was against your Highness . Whereat , grieved
That so his sickness , age , and impotence
Was falsely borne in hand , sends out arrests
On Fortinbras , which he , in brief , obeys ,
Receives rebuke from Norway , and , in fine ,
Makes vow before his uncle never more
To give th’ assay of arms against your Majesty .
Whereon old Norway , overcome with joy ,
Gives him three-score thousand crowns in annual
fee
And his commission to employ those soldiers ,
So levied as before , against the Polack ,
With an entreaty , herein further shown ,

That it might please you to give quiet pass
Through your dominions for this enterprise ,
On such regards of safety and allowance
As therein are set down .

Hamlet


I would fain prove so . But what might you think ,
When I had seen this hot love on the wing
( As I perceived it , I must tell you that ,
Before my daughter told me ) , what might you ,
Or my dear Majesty your queen here , think ,
If I had played the desk or table-book
Or given my heart a winking , mute and dumb ,
Or looked upon this love with idle sight ?
What might you think ? No , I went round to work ,
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak :
Lord Hamlet is a prince , out of thy star .
This must not be . And then I prescripts gave her ,
That she should lock herself from his resort ,
Admit no messengers , receive no tokens ;
Which done , she took the fruits of my advice ,
And he , repelled ( a short tale to make ) ,
Fell into a sadness , then into a fast ,
Thence to a watch , thence into a weakness ,
Thence to a lightness , and , by this declension ,
Into the madness wherein now he raves
And all we mourn for .

Hamlet


At such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him .
Be you and I behind an arras then .
Mark the encounter . If he love her not ,
And be not from his reason fall’n thereon ,
Let me be no assistant for a state ,
But keep a farm and carters .

Hamlet


But look where sadly the poor wretch comes
reading .

Hamlet

Let her not walk i’ th’ sun . Conception is a
blessing , but , as your daughter may conceive ,
friend , look to ’t .

Hamlet

Anything but to th’ purpose . You were sent
for , and there is a kind of confession in your looks
which your modesties have not craft enough to
color . I know the good king and queen have sent for
you .

Hamlet

I will tell you why ; so shall my anticipation
prevent your discovery , and your secrecy to the
King and Queen molt no feather . I have of late , but
wherefore I know not , lost all my mirth , forgone all
custom of exercises , and , indeed , it goes so heavily
with my disposition that this goodly frame , the
Earth earth , seems to me a sterile promontory ; this most
excellent canopy , the air , look you , this brave o’erhanging
firmament , this majestical roof , fretted
with golden fire — why , it appeareth nothing to me
but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors .
What a piece of work is a man , how noble in
reason , how infinite in faculties , in form and moving
how express and admirable ; in action how like
an angel , in apprehension how like a god : the
beauty of the world , the paragon of animals — and
yet , to me , what is this quintessence of dust ? Man
delights not me , no , nor women neither , though by
your smiling you seem to say so .

Hamlet

It is not very strange ; for my uncle is King of
Denmark , and those that would make mouths at
him while my father lived give twenty , forty , fifty ,
a
hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little .
’Sblood , there is something in this more than natural ,
if philosophy could find it out .

Hamlet

Why ,
As by lot , God wot
and then , you know ,
It came to pass , as most like it was —
the first row of the pious chanson will show you
more , for look where my abridgment comes .



You are welcome , masters ; welcome all . — I am glad
to see thee well . — Welcome , good friends . — O my
old friend ! Why , thy face is valanced since I saw thee
last . Com’st thou to beard me in Denmark ? — What ,
my young lady and mistress ! By ’r Lady , your Ladyship ladyship
is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last , by
the altitude of a chopine . Pray God your voice , like a
piece of uncurrent gold , be not cracked within the
ring . Masters , you are all welcome . We’ll e’en to ’t
like French falconers , fly at anything we see . We’ll
have a speech straight . Come , give us a taste of your
quality . Come , a passionate speech .

Hamlet

I heard thee speak me a speech once , but it
was never acted , or , if it was , not above once ; for
the play , I remember , pleased not the million :
’twas caviary to the general . But it was ( as I
received it , and others whose judgments in such
matters cried in the top of mine ) an excellent play ,
well digested in the scenes , set down with as much
modesty as cunning . I remember one said there
were no sallets in the lines to make the matter
savory , nor no matter in the phrase that might indict
the author of affection affectation , but called it an honest
method , as wholesome as sweet and , by very much ,
more handsome than fine . One speech in ’t I
chiefly loved . ’Twas Aeneas’ tale to Dido , and
thereabout of it especially when he speaks of
Priam’s slaughter . If it live in your memory , begin at
this line — let me see , let me see :
The rugged Pyrrhus , like th’ Hyrcanian beast —
’tis not so ; it begins with Pyrrhus :
The rugged Pyrrhus , he whose sable arms ,
Black as his purpose , did the night resemble
When he lay couchèd in th’ ominous horse ,
Hath now this dread and black complexion smeared
With heraldry more dismal . Head to foot ,
Now is he total gules , horridly tricked
With blood of fathers , mothers , daughters , sons ,
Baked and impasted with the parching streets ,
That lend a tyrannous and a damnèd light
To their lord’s murder . Roasted in wrath and fire ,
And thus o’ersizèd with coagulate gore ,
With eyes like carbuncles , the hellish Pyrrhus
Old grandsire Priam seeks .
So , proceed you .

Hamlet

Look whe’er he has not turned his color and
has tears in ’s eyes . Prithee , no more .

Hamlet

Very well . Follow that lord — and look you
mock him not . My good friends ,
I’ll leave you till night . You are welcome to Elsinore .

Hamlet


Ay , so , good-bye to you .

Now I am alone .
O , what a rogue and peasant slave am I !
Is it not monstrous that this player here ,
But in a fiction , in a dream of passion ,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wanned ,
Tears in his eyes , distraction in his aspect ,
A broken voice , and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit — and all for nothing !
For Hecuba !
What’s Hecuba to him , or he to Hecuba ,
That he should weep for her ? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ,
Make mad the guilty and appall the free ,
Confound the ignorant and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears . Yet I ,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal , peak
Like John-a-dreams , unpregnant of my cause ,
And can say nothing — no , not for a king
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damned defeat was made . Am I a coward ?
Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ?
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face ?
Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the lie i’ th’ throat
As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this ?
Ha ! ’Swounds , I should take it ! For it cannot be
But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall
To make oppression bitter , or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave’s offal . Bloody , bawdy villain !
Remorseless , treacherous , lecherous , kindless
villain !
O vengeance !
Why , what an ass am I ! This is most brave ,
That I , the son of a dear father murdered ,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell ,
Must , like a whore , unpack my heart with words
And fall a-cursing like a very drab ,
A stallion scullion ! Fie upon ’t ! Foh !
About , my brains ! — Hum , I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have , by the very cunning of the scene ,
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaimed their malefactions ; .
For murder , though it have no tongue , will speak
With most miraculous organ . I’ll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father
Before mine uncle . I’ll observe his looks ;
I’ll tent him to the quick . If he do blench ,
I know my course . The spirit that I have seen
May be a devil , and the devil hath power
T’ assume a pleasing shape ; yea , and perhaps ,
Out of my weakness and my melancholy ,
As he is very potent with such spirits ,
Abuses me to damn me . I’ll have grounds
More relative than this . The play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King .

Hamlet


Nor do we find him forward to be sounded ,
But with a crafty madness keeps aloof
When we would bring him on to some confession
Of his true state .

Hamlet

Nay , do not think I flatter ,
For what advancement may I hope from thee
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits
To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be
flattered ?
No , let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
Where thrift may follow fawning . Dost thou hear ?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice
And could of men distinguish , her election
Hath sealed thee for herself . For thou hast been
As one in suffering all that suffers nothing ,
A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards
Hast ta’en with equal thanks ; and blessed are those
Whose blood and judgment are so well
commeddled
That they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger
To sound what stop she please . Give me that man
That is not passion’s slave , and I will wear him
In my heart’s core , ay , in my heart of heart ,
As I do thee . — Something too much of this . —
There is a play tonight before the King .
One scene of it comes near the circumstance
Which I have told thee of my father’s death .
I prithee , when thou seest that act afoot ,
Even with the very comment of thy soul
Observe my uncle . If his occulted guilt
Do not itself unkennel in one speech ,
It is a damnèd ghost that we have seen ,
And my imaginations are as foul
As Vulcan’s stithy . Give him heedful note ,
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ,
And , after , we will both our judgments join
In censure of his seeming .

Hamlet

O God , your only jig-maker . What should a
man do but be merry ? For look you how cheerfully
my mother looks , and my father died within ’s two
hours .

Hamlet

It is as easy as lying . Govern these ventages
with your fingers and thumb , give it breath with
your mouth , and it will discourse most eloquent
music . Look you , these are the stops .

Hamlet

Why , look you now , how unworthy a thing
you make of me ! You would play upon me , you
would seem to know my stops , you would pluck
out the heart of my mystery , you would sound me
from my lowest note to the top of my compass ;
and there is much music , excellent voice , in this
little organ , yet cannot you make it speak . ’Sblood ,
do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe ?
Call me what instrument you will , though you can
fret me , you cannot play upon me .



God bless you , sir .

Hamlet

By and by is easily said . Leave me ,
friends .

’Tis now the very witching time of night ,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes
out
Contagion to this world . Now could I drink hot
blood
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on . Soft , now to my mother .
O heart , lose not thy nature ; let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom .
Let me be cruel , not unnatural .
I will speak daggers to her , but use none .
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites :
How in my words somever she be shent ,
To give them seals never , my soul , consent .

Hamlet

Thanks , dear my lord .

O , my offense is rank , it smells to heaven ;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon ’t ,
A brother’s murder . Pray can I not ,
Though inclination be as sharp as will .
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ,
And , like a man to double business bound ,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin
And both neglect . What if this cursèd hand
Were thicker than itself with brother’s blood ?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy
But to confront the visage of offense ?
And what’s in prayer but this twofold force ,
To be forestallèd ere we come to fall ,
Or pardoned being down ? Then I’ll look up .
My fault is past . But , O , what form of prayer
Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ?
That cannot be , since I am still possessed
Of those effects for which I did the murder :
My crown , mine own ambition , and my queen .
May one be pardoned and retain th’ offense ?
In the corrupted currents of this world ,
Offense’s gilded hand may shove by justice ,
And oft ’tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law . But ’tis not so above :
There is no shuffling ; there the action lies
In his true nature , and we ourselves compelled ,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults ,
To give in evidence . What then ? What rests ?
Try what repentance can . What can it not ?
Yet what can it , when one cannot repent ?
O wretched state ! O bosom black as death !
O limèd soul , that , struggling to be free ,
Art more engaged ! Help , angels ! Make assay .
Bow , stubborn knees , and heart with strings of steel
Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe .
All may be well .

Hamlet


He will come straight . Look you lay home to him .
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear
with
And that your Grace hath screened and stood
between
Much heat and him . I’ll silence me even here .
Pray you , be round with him .

Hamlet


O , what a rash and bloody deed is this !

Hamlet


A bloody deed — almost as bad , good mother ,
As kill a king and marry with his brother .

Hamlet


Look here upon this picture and on this ,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers .
See what a grace was seated on this brow ,
Hyperion’s curls , the front of Jove himself ,
An eye like Mars’ to threaten and command ,
A station like the herald Mercury
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ,
A combination and a form indeed
Where every god did seem to set his seal
To give the world assurance of a man .
This was your husband . Look you now what follows .
Here is your husband , like a mildewed ear
Blasting his wholesome brother . Have you eyes ?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed
And batten on this moor ? Ha ! Have you eyes ?
You cannot call it love , for at your age
The heyday in the blood is tame , it’s humble
And waits upon the judgment ; and what judgment
Would step from this to this ? Sense sure you have ,
Else could you not have motion ; but sure that sense
Is apoplexed ; for madness would not err ,
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne’er so thralled ,
But it reserved some quantity of choice
To serve in such a difference . What devil was ’t
That thus hath cozened you at hoodman-blind ?
Eyes without feeling , feeling without sight ,
Ears without hands or eyes , smelling sans all ,
Or but a sickly part of one true sense
Could not so mope . O shame , where is thy blush ?
Rebellious hell ,
If thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones ,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax
And melt in her own fire . Proclaim no shame
When the compulsive ardor gives the charge ,
Since frost itself as actively doth burn ,
And reason panders will .

Hamlet

Do not forget . This visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose .
But look , amazement on thy mother sits .
O , step between her and her fighting soul .
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works .
Speak to her , Hamlet .

Hamlet

Alas , how is ’t with you ,
That you do bend your eye on vacancy
And with th’ incorporal air do hold discourse ?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ,
And , as the sleeping soldiers in th’ alarm ,
Your bedded hair , like life in excrements ,
Start up and stand an end . O gentle son ,
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
Sprinkle cool patience ! Whereon do you look ?

Hamlet


On him , on him ! Look you how pale he glares .
His form and cause conjoined , preaching to stones ,
Would make them capable . Do not
look upon me ,
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects . Then what I have to do
Will want true color — tears perchance for blood .

Hamlet


Why , look you there , look how it steals away !
My father , in his habit as he lived !
Look where he goes even now out at the portal !

Hamlet

O heavy deed !
It had been so with us , had we been there .
His liberty is full of threats to all —
To you yourself , to us , to everyone .
Alas , how shall this bloody deed be answered ?
It will be laid to us , whose providence
Should have kept short , restrained , and out of haunt
This mad young man . But so much was our love ,
We would not understand what was most fit ,
But , like the owner of a foul disease ,
To keep it from divulging , let it feed
Even on the pith of life . Where is he gone ?

Hamlet


I have sent to seek him and to find the body .
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose !
Yet must not we put the strong law on him .
He’s loved of the distracted multitude ,
Who like not in their judgment , but their eyes ;
And , where ’tis so , th’ offender’s scourge is weighed ,
But never the offense . To bear all smooth and even ,
This sudden sending him away must seem
Deliberate pause . Diseases desperate grown
By desperate appliance are relieved
Or not at all .



How now , what hath befallen ?

Hamlet


Follow him at foot ; tempt him with speed aboard .
Delay it not . I’ll have him hence tonight .
Away , for everything is sealed and done
That else leans on th’ affair . Pray you , make haste .

And England , if my love thou hold’st at aught
( As my great power thereof may give thee sense ,
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword , and thy free awe
Pays homage to us ) , thou mayst not coldly set
Our sovereign process , which imports at full ,
By letters congruing to that effect ,
The present death of Hamlet . Do it , England ,
For like the hectic in my blood he rages ,
And thou must cure me . Till I know ’tis done ,
Howe’er my haps , my joys will were ne’er begin begun .

Hamlet


I’ll be with you straight . Go a little before .

How all occasions do inform against me
And spur my dull revenge . What is a man
If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed ? A beast , no more .
Sure He that made us with such large discourse ,
Looking before and after , gave us not
That capability and godlike reason
To fust in us unused . Now whether it be
Bestial oblivion or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on th’ event
( A thought which , quartered , hath but one part
wisdom
And ever three parts coward ) , I do not know
Why yet I live to say This thing’s to do ,
Sith I have cause , and will , and strength , and means
To do ’t . Examples gross as Earth earth exhort me :
Witness this army of such mass and charge ,
Led by a delicate and tender prince ,
Whose spirit with divine ambition puffed
Makes mouths at the invisible event ,
Exposing what is mortal and unsure
To all that fortune , death , and danger dare ,
Even for an eggshell . Rightly to be great
Is not to stir without great argument ,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw
When honor’s at the stake . How stand I , then ,
That have a father killed , a mother stained ,
Excitements of my reason and my blood ,
And let all sleep , while to my shame I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand men
That for a fantasy and trick of fame
Go to their graves like beds , fight for a plot
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause ,
Which is not tomb enough and continent
To hide the slain ? O , from this time forth
My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth !

Hamlet

Alas , look here , my lord .

Hamlet


That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me
bastard ,
Cries cuckold to my father , brands the harlot
Even here between the chaste unsmirchèd brow
Of my true mother .

Hamlet

What is the cause , Laertes ,
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ? —
Let him go , Gertrude . Do not fear our person .
There’s such divinity doth hedge a king
That treason can but peep to what it would ,
Acts little of his will . — Tell me , Laertes ,
Why thou art thus incensed . — Let him go ,
Gertrude . —
Speak , man .

Hamlet


To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms
And , like the kind life-rend’ring pelican ,
Repast them with my blood .

Hamlet

Horatio , when thou shalt have
overlooked this , give these fellows some means to the
King . They have letters for him . Ere we were two days
old at sea , a pirate of very warlike appointment gave
us chase . Finding ourselves too slow of sail , we put on
a compelled valor , and in the grapple I boarded them .
On the instant , they got clear of our ship ; so I alone
became their prisoner . They have dealt with me like
thieves of mercy , but they knew what they did : I am to
do a good turn for them . Let the King have the letters
I have sent , and repair thou to me with as much speed
as thou wouldst fly death . I have words to speak in
thine ear will make thee dumb ; yet are they much too
light for the bore of the matter . These good fellows
will bring thee where I am . Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
hold their course for England ; of them I have
much to tell thee . Farewell .
He that thou knowest thine ,
Hamlet .
Come , I will give you way for these your letters
And do ’t the speedier that you may direct me
To him from whom you brought them .

Hamlet

O , for two special reasons ,
Which may to you perhaps seem much unsinewed ,
But yet to me they’re strong . The Queen his mother
Lives almost by his looks , and for myself
( My virtue or my plague , be it either which ) ,
She is so conjunctive to my life and soul
That , as the star moves not but in his sphere ,
I could not but by her . The other motive
Why to a public count I might not go
Is the great love the general gender bear him ,
Who , dipping all his faults in their affection ,
Work like the spring that turneth wood to stone ,
Convert his gyves to graces , so that my arrows ,
Too slightly timbered for so loud a wind ,
Would have reverted to my bow again ,
But not where I have aimed them .

Hamlet

I will do ’t ,
And for that purpose I’ll anoint my sword .
I bought an unction of a mountebank
So mortal that , but dip a knife in it ,
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare ,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon , can save the thing from death
That is but scratched withal . I’ll touch my point
With this contagion , that , if I gall him slightly ,
It may be death .

Hamlet

Let’s further think of this ,
Weigh what convenience both of time and means
May fit us to our shape . If this should fail ,
And that our drift look through our bad
performance ,
’Twere better not assayed . Therefore this project
Should have a back or second that might hold
If this did blast in proof . Soft , let me see .
We’ll make a solemn wager on your cunnings —
I ha ’t !
When in your motion you are hot and dry
( As make your bouts more violent to that end )
And that he calls for drink , I’ll have prepared
him
A chalice for the nonce , whereon but sipping ,
If he by chance escape your venomed stuck ,
Our purpose may hold there . — But stay , what
noise ?

Hamlet

Dost thou think Alexander looked o’ this
fashion i’ th’ earth ?

Hamlet

I am satisfied in nature ,
Whose motive in this case should stir me most
To my revenge ; but in my terms of honor
I stand aloof and will no reconcilement
Till by some elder masters of known honor
I have a voice and precedent of peace
To keep my name ungored . But till that time
I do receive your offered love like love
And will not wrong it .

Hamlet

Look to the Queen there , ho !

Hamlet


Heaven make thee free of it . I follow thee . —
I am dead , Horatio . — Wretched queen , adieu . —
You that look pale and tremble at this chance ,
That are but mutes or audience to this act ,
Had I but time ( as this fell sergeant , Death ,
Is strict in his arrest ) , O , I could tell you —
But let it be . — Horatio , I am dead .
Thou livest ; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied .

Hamlet


This quarry cries on havoc . O proud Death ,
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell
That thou so many princes at a shot
So bloodily hast struck ?

Hamlet

Not from his
mouth ,
Had it th’ ability of life to thank you .
He never gave commandment for their death .
But since , so jump upon this bloody question ,
You from the Polack wars , and you from England ,
Are here arrived , give order that these bodies
High on a stage be placed to the view ,
And let me speak to th’ yet unknowing world
How these things came about . So shall you hear
Of carnal , bloody , and unnatural acts ,
Of accidental judgments , casual slaughters ,
Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause ,
And , in this upshot , purposes mistook
Fall’n on th’ inventors’ heads . All this can I
Truly deliver .

Henry IV, Part 1


So shaken as we are , so wan with care ,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenced in strands afar remote .
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children’s blood .
No more shall trenching war channel her fields ,
Nor bruise her flow’rets with the armèd hoofs
Of hostile paces . Those opposèd eyes ,
Which , like the meteors of a troubled heaven ,
All of one nature , of one substance bred ,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery ,
Shall now , in mutual well-beseeming ranks ,
March all one way and be no more opposed
Against acquaintance , kindred , and allies .
The edge of war , like an ill-sheathèd knife ,
No more shall cut his master . Therefore , friends ,
As far as to the sepulcher of Christ —
Whose soldier now , under whose blessèd cross
We are impressèd and engaged to fight —
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ,
Whose arms were molded in their mothers’ womb
To chase these pagans in those holy fields
Over whose acres walked those blessèd feet
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed
For our advantage on the bitter cross .
But this our purpose now is twelve month old ,
And bootless ’tis to tell you we will go .
Therefor we meet not now . Then let me hear
Of you , my gentle cousin Westmoreland ,
What yesternight our council did decree
In forwarding this dear expedience .

Henry IV, Part 1


This matched with other did , my gracious lord .
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north , and thus it did import :
On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there ,
Young Harry Percy , and brave Archibald ,
That ever valiant and approvèd Scot ,
At Holmedon met , where they did spend
A sad and bloody hour —
As by discharge of their artillery
And shape of likelihood the news was told ,
For he that brought them , in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse ,
Uncertain of the issue any way .

Henry IV, Part 1


Here is a dear , a true-industrious friend ,
Sir Walter Blunt , new lighted from his horse ,
Stained with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ,
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news .
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited ;
Ten thousand bold Scots , two-and-twenty knights ,
Balked in their own blood , did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon’s plains . Of prisoners Hotspur took
Mordake , Earl of Fife and eldest son
To beaten Douglas , and the Earl of Atholl ,
Of Murray , Angus , and Menteith .
And is not this an honorable spoil ?
A gallant prize ? Ha , cousin , is it not ?

Henry IV, Part 1


Yea , there thou mak’st me sad , and mak’st me sin
In envy that my Lord Northumberland
Should be the father to so blest a son ,
A son who is the theme of Honor’s tongue ,
Amongst a grove the very straightest plant ,
Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride ;
Whilst I , by looking on the praise of him ,
See riot and dishonor stain the brow
Of my young Harry . O , that it could be proved
That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay ,
And called mine Percy , his Plantagenet !
Then would I have his Harry , and he mine .
But let him from my thoughts . What think you , coz ,
Of this young Percy’s pride ? The prisoners
Which he in this adventure hath surprised
To his own use he keeps , and sends me word
I shall have none but Mordake , Earl of Fife .

Henry IV, Part 1

Yea , for obtaining of suits , whereof the hangman
hath no lean wardrobe . ’Sblood , I am as
melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear .

Henry IV, Part 1

There’s neither honesty , manhood , nor
good fellowship in thee , nor thou cam’st not of
the blood royal , if thou darest not stand for ten
shillings .

Henry IV, Part 1


I know you all , and will awhile uphold
The unyoked humor of your idleness .
Yet herein will I imitate the sun ,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world ,
That , when he please again to be himself ,
Being wanted , he may be more wondered at
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapors that did seem to strangle him .
If all the year were playing holidays ,
To sport would be as tedious as to work ,
But when they seldom come , they wished-for come ,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents .
So when this loose behavior I throw off
And pay the debt I never promisèd ,
By how much better than my word I am ,
By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes ;
And , like bright metal on a sullen ground ,
My reformation , glitt’ring o’er my fault ,
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
Than that which hath no foil to set it off .
I’ll so offend to make offense a skill ,
Redeeming time when men think least I will .

Henry IV, Part 1


My blood hath been too cold and temperate ,
Unapt to stir at these indignities ,
And you have found me , for accordingly
You tread upon my patience . But be sure
I will from henceforth rather be myself ,
Mighty and to be feared , than my condition ,
Which hath been smooth as oil , soft as young down ,
And therefore lost that title of respect
Which the proud soul ne’er pays but to the proud .

Henry IV, Part 1

Revolted Mortimer !
He never did fall off , my sovereign liege ,
But by the chance of war . To prove that true
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds ,
Those mouthèd wounds , which valiantly he took
When on the gentle Severn’s sedgy bank
In single opposition hand to hand
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower .
Three times they breathed , and three times did they
drink ,
Upon agreement , of swift Severn’s flood ,
Who then , affrighted with their bloody looks ,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank ,
Blood-stainèd with these valiant combatants .
Never did bare and rotten policy
Color her working with such deadly wounds ,
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many , and all willingly .
Then let not him be slandered with revolt .

Henry IV, Part 1

Speak of Mortimer ?
Zounds , I will speak of him , and let my soul
Want mercy if I do not join with him .
Yea , on his part I’ll empty all these veins
And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust ,
But I will lift the downtrod Mortimer
As high in the air as this unthankful king ,
As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke .

Henry IV, Part 1


He will forsooth have all my prisoners ,
And when I urged the ransom once again
Of my wife’s brother , then his cheek looked pale ,
And on my face he turned an eye of death ,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer .

Henry IV, Part 1


I cannot blame him . Was not he proclaimed
By Richard , that dead is , the next of blood ?

Henry IV, Part 1


Nay then , I cannot blame his cousin king
That wished him on the barren mountains starve .
But shall it be that you that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man
And for his sake wear the detested blot
Of murderous subornation — shall it be
That you a world of curses undergo ,
Being the agents or base second means ,
The cords , the ladder , or the hangman rather ?
O , pardon me that I descend so low
To show the line and the predicament
Wherein you range under this subtle king .
Shall it for shame be spoken in these days ,
Or fill up chronicles in time to come ,
That men of your nobility and power
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf
( As both of you , God pardon it , have done )
To put down Richard , that sweet lovely rose ,
And plant this thorn , this canker , Bolingbroke ?
And shall it in more shame be further spoken
That you are fooled , discarded , and shook off
By him for whom these shames you underwent ?
No , yet time serves wherein you may redeem
Your banished honors and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again ,
Revenge the jeering and disdained contempt
Of this proud king , who studies day and night
To answer all the debt he owes to you
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths .
Therefore I say —

Henry IV, Part 1


If he fall in , good night , or sink or swim !
Send danger from the east unto the west ,
So honor cross it from the north to south ,
And let them grapple . O , the blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare !

Henry IV, Part 1


Why , look you , I am whipped and scourged with
rods ,
Nettled and stung with pismires , when I hear
Of this vile politician , Bolingbroke .
In Richard’s time — what do you call the place ?
A plague upon it ! It is in Gloucestershire .
’Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept ,
His uncle York , where I first bowed my knee
Unto this king of smiles , this Bolingbroke .
’Sblood , when you and he came back from
Ravenspurgh .

Henry IV, Part 1

You say true .
Why , what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me :
Look when his infant fortune came to age ,
And gentle Harry Percy , and kind cousin .
O , the devil take such cozeners ! — God forgive me !
Good uncle , tell your tale . I have done .

Henry IV, Part 1


And ’tis no little reason bids us speed
To save our heads by raising of a head ,
For bear ourselves as even as we can ,
The King will always think him in our debt ,
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied ,
Till he hath found a time to pay us home .
And see already how he doth begin
To make us strangers to his looks of love .

Henry IV, Part 1

What talkest thou to me of the hangman ? If
I hang , I’ll make a fat pair of gallows , for if I hang ,
old Sir John hangs with me , and thou knowest he is
no starveling . Tut , there are other Troyans that
thou dream’st not of , the which for sport sake are
content to do the profession some grace , that
would , if matters should be looked into , for their
own credit sake make all whole . I am joined with no
foot-land-rakers , no long-staff sixpenny strikers ,
none of these mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worms ,
but with nobility and tranquillity , burgomasters
and great oneyers , such as can hold in , such
as will strike sooner than speak , and speak sooner
than drink , and drink sooner than pray , and yet ,
zounds , I lie , for they pray continually to their saint
the commonwealth , or rather not pray to her but
prey on her , for they ride up and down on her and
make her their boots .

Henry IV, Part 1

Have you any levers to lift me up again being
down ? ’Sblood , I’ll not bear my own flesh so
far afoot again for all the coin in thy father’s Exchequer .
What a plague mean you to colt me
thus ?

Henry IV, Part 1


O my good lord , why are you thus alone ?
For what offense have I this fortnight been
A banished woman from my Harry’s bed ?
Tell me , sweet lord , what is ’t that takes from thee
Thy stomach , pleasure , and thy golden sleep ?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth
And start so often when thou sit’st alone ?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks
And given my treasures and my rights of thee
To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy ?
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watched ,
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars ,
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ,
Cry Courage ! To the field ! And thou hast talked
Of sallies and retires , of trenches , tents ,
Of palisadoes , frontiers , parapets ,
Of basilisks , of cannon , culverin ,
Of prisoners’ ransom , and of soldiers slain ,
And all the currents of a heady fight .
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war ,
And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep ,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow
Like bubbles in a late-disturbèd stream ,
And in thy face strange motions have appeared ,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden hest . O , what portents are
these ?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand ,
And I must know it , else he loves me not .

Henry IV, Part 1

Away !
Away , you trifler . Love , I love thee not .
I care not for thee , Kate . This is no world
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips .
We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns ,
And pass them current too . — Gods me , my horse ! —
What say’st thou , Kate ? What wouldst thou have
with me ?

Henry IV, Part 1

Anon , anon , sir . — Look down into the Pomgarnet ,
Ralph .

Henry IV, Part 1

Why then , your brown bastard is your only
drink , for look you , Francis , your white canvas
doublet will sully . In Barbary , sir , it cannot come to
so much .

Henry IV, Part 1

What , stand’st thou still and hear’st such a
calling ? Look to the guests within .
My lord , old Sir John with half a dozen more are at
the door . Shall I let them in ?

Henry IV, Part 1

’Sblood , you starveling , you elfskin , you
dried neat’s tongue , you bull’s pizzle , you stockfish !
O , for breath to utter what is like thee ! You tailor’s
yard , you sheath , you bowcase , you vile standing
tuck —

Henry IV, Part 1

Yea , and to tickle our noses with speargrass
to make them bleed , and then to beslubber our
garments with it , and swear it was the blood of true
men . I did that I did not this seven year before : I
blushed to hear his monstrous devices .

Henry IV, Part 1

By the Mass , thou sayest true . It is like we
shall have good trading that way . But tell me , Hal ,
art not thou horrible afeard ? Thou being heir
apparent , could the world pick thee out three such
enemies again as that fiend Douglas , that spirit
Percy , and that devil Glendower ? Art thou not
horribly afraid ? Doth not thy blood thrill at it ?

Henry IV, Part 1

Well , an the fire of grace be not quite out of
thee , now shalt thou be moved . — Give me a cup of
sack to make my eyes look red , that it may be
thought I have wept , for I must speak in passion ,
and I will do it in King Cambyses’ vein .

Henry IV, Part 1


For God’s sake , lords , convey my tristful queen ,
For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes .

Henry IV, Part 1

A goodly portly man , i’ faith , and a
corpulent ; of a cheerful look , a pleasing eye , and a
most noble carriage , and , as I think , his age some
fifty , or , by ’r Lady , inclining to threescore ; and now
I remember me , his name is Falstaff . If that man
should be lewdly given , he deceiveth me , for , Harry ,
I see virtue in his looks . If then the tree may be
known by the fruit , as the fruit by the tree , then
peremptorily I speak it : there is virtue in that
Falstaff ; him keep with , the rest banish . And tell me
now , thou naughty varlet , tell me where hast thou
been this month ?

Henry IV, Part 1

’Sblood , my lord , they are false .
— Nay , I’ll tickle you for a young prince , i’ faith .

Henry IV, Part 1

Swearest thou ? Ungracious boy ,
henceforth ne’er look on me . Thou art violently
carried away from grace . There is a devil haunts
thee in the likeness of an old fat man . A tun of man
is thy companion . Why dost thou converse with that
trunk of humors , that bolting-hutch of beastliness ,
that swollen parcel of dropsies , that huge bombard
of sack , that stuffed cloakbag of guts , that roasted
Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly , that
reverend Vice , that gray iniquity , that father ruffian ,
that vanity in years ? Wherein is he good , but to taste
sack and drink it ? Wherein neat and cleanly but to
carve a capon and eat it ? Wherein cunning but in
craft ? Wherein crafty but in villainy ? Wherein villainous
but in all things ? Wherein worthy but in
nothing ?

Henry IV, Part 1


No , here it is . Sit , cousin Percy ,
Sit , good cousin Hotspur , for by that name
As oft as Lancaster doth speak of you
His cheek looks pale , and with a rising sigh
He wisheth you in heaven .

Henry IV, Part 1


Methinks my moiety , north from Burton here ,
In quantity equals not one of yours .
See how this river comes me cranking in
And cuts me from the best of all my land
A huge half-moon , a monstrous cantle out .
I’ll have the current in this place dammed up ,
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run
In a new channel , fair and evenly .
It shall not wind with such a deep indent
To rob me of so rich a bottom here .

Henry IV, Part 1


In faith , my lord , you are too willful-blame ,
And , since your coming hither , have done enough
To put him quite besides his patience .
You must needs learn , lord , to amend this fault .
Though sometimes it show greatness , courage ,
blood —
And that’s the dearest grace it renders you —
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage ,
Defect of manners , want of government ,
Pride , haughtiness , opinion , and disdain ,
The least of which , haunting a nobleman ,
Loseth men’s hearts and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts besides ,
Beguiling them of commendation .

Henry IV, Part 1


I understand thy looks . That pretty Welsh
Which thou pourest down from these swelling
heavens
I am too perfect in , and but for shame
In such a parley should I answer thee .

I understand thy kisses , and thou mine ,
And that’s a feeling disputation ;
But I will never be a truant , love ,
Till I have learned thy language ; for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penned ,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer’s bower ,
With ravishing division , to her lute .

Henry IV, Part 1


She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down
And rest your gentle head upon her lap ,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you ,
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep ,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness ,
Making such difference ’twixt wake and sleep
As is the difference betwixt day and night
The hour before the heavenly harnessed team
Begins his golden progress in the east .

Henry IV, Part 1


Lords , give us leave ; the Prince of Wales and I
Must have some private conference , but be near at
hand ,
For we shall presently have need of you .

I know not whether God will have it so
For some displeasing service I have done ,
That , in His secret doom , out of my blood
He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me .
But thou dost in thy passages of life
Make me believe that thou art only marked
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven
To punish my mistreadings . Tell me else ,
Could such inordinate and low desires ,
Such poor , such bare , such lewd , such mean
attempts ,
Such barren pleasures , rude society
As thou art matched withal , and grafted to ,
Accompany the greatness of thy blood ,
And hold their level with thy princely heart ?

Henry IV, Part 1


God pardon thee . Yet let me wonder , Harry ,
At thy affections , which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors .
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost ,
Which by thy younger brother is supplied ,
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood .
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruined , and the soul of every man
Prophetically do forethink thy fall .
Had I so lavish of my presence been ,
So common-hackneyed in the eyes of men ,
So stale and cheap to vulgar company ,
Opinion , that did help me to the crown ,
Had still kept loyal to possession
And left me in reputeless banishment ,
A fellow of no mark nor likelihood .
By being seldom seen , I could not stir
But like a comet I was wondered at ,
That men would tell their children This is he .
Others would say Where ? Which is Bolingbroke ?
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven ,
And dressed myself in such humility
That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts ,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths ,
Even in the presence of the crownèd king .
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ,
My presence , like a robe pontifical ,
Ne’er seen but wondered at , and so my state ,
Seldom but sumptuous , showed like a feast
And won by rareness such solemnity .
The skipping king , he ambled up and down
With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits ,
Soon kindled and soon burnt ; carded his state ,
Mingled his royalty with cap’ring fools ,
Had his great name profanèd with their scorns ,
And gave his countenance , against his name ,
To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push
Of every beardless vain comparative ;
Grew a companion to the common streets ,
Enfeoffed himself to popularity ,
That , being daily swallowed by men’s eyes ,
They surfeited with honey and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness , whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much .
So , when he had occasion to be seen ,
He was but as the cuckoo is in June ,
Heard , not regarded ; seen , but with such eyes
As , sick and blunted with community ,
Afford no extraordinary gaze
Such as is bent on sunlike majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes ,
But rather drowsed and hung their eyelids down ,
Slept in his face , and rendered such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries ,
Being with his presence glutted , gorged , and full .
And in that very line , Harry , standest thou ,
For thou hast lost thy princely privilege
With vile participation . Not an eye
But is aweary of thy common sight ,
Save mine , which hath desired to see thee more ,
Which now doth that I would not have it do ,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness .

Henry IV, Part 1

For all the world
As thou art to this hour was Richard then
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh ,
And even as I was then is Percy now .
Now , by my scepter , and my soul to boot ,
He hath more worthy interest to the state
Than thou , the shadow of succession .
For of no right , nor color like to right ,
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm ,
Turns head against the lion’s armèd jaws ,
And , being no more in debt to years than thou ,
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on
To bloody battles and to bruising arms .
What never-dying honor hath he got
Against renownèd Douglas , whose high deeds ,
Whose hot incursions and great name in arms ,
Holds from all soldiers chief majority
And military title capital
Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ .
Thrice hath this Hotspur , Mars in swaddling
clothes ,
This infant warrior , in his enterprises
Discomfited great Douglas , ta’en him once ,
Enlargèd him , and made a friend of him ,
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up
And shake the peace and safety of our throne .
And what say you to this ? Percy , Northumberland ,
The Archbishop’s Grace of York , Douglas ,
Mortimer ,
Capitulate against us and are up .
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ?
Why , Harry , do I tell thee of my foes ,
Which art my nearest and dearest enemy ?
Thou that art like enough , through vassal fear ,
Base inclination , and the start of spleen ,
To fight against me under Percy’s pay ,
To dog his heels , and curtsy at his frowns ,
To show how much thou art degenerate .

Henry IV, Part 1


Do not think so . You shall not find it so .
And God forgive them that so much have swayed
Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me .
I will redeem all this on Percy’s head ,
And , in the closing of some glorious day ,
Be bold to tell you that I am your son ,
When I will wear a garment all of blood
And stain my favors in a bloody mask ,
Which , washed away , shall scour my shame with it .
And that shall be the day , whene’er it lights ,
That this same child of honor and renown ,
This gallant Hotspur , this all-praisèd knight ,
And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet .
For every honor sitting on his helm ,
Would they were multitudes , and on my head
My shames redoubled ! For the time will come
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities .
Percy is but my factor , good my lord ,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf .
And I will call him to so strict account
That he shall render every glory up ,
Yea , even the slightest worship of his time ,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart .
This in the name of God I promise here ,
The which if He be pleased I shall perform ,
I do beseech your Majesty may salve
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance .
If not , the end of life cancels all bands ,
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow .

Henry IV, Part 1


A hundred thousand rebels die in this .
Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein .



How now , good Blunt ? Thy looks are full of speed .

Henry IV, Part 1

Bardolph , am I not fallen away vilely since
this last action ? Do I not bate ? Do I not dwindle ?
Why , my skin hangs about me like an old lady’s
loose gown . I am withered like an old applejohn .
Well , I’ll repent , and that suddenly , while I am in
some liking . I shall be out of heart shortly , and then
I shall have no strength to repent . An I have not
forgotten what the inside of a church is made of , I
am a peppercorn , a brewer’s horse . The inside of a
church ! Company , villainous company , hath been
the spoil of me .

Henry IV, Part 1

’Sblood , I would my face were in your
belly !

Henry IV, Part 1

How , poor ? Look upon his face . What call
you rich ? Let them coin his nose . Let them coin his
cheeks . I’ll not pay a denier . What , will you make a
younker of me ? Shall I not take mine ease in mine
inn but I shall have my pocket picked ? I have lost a
seal ring of my grandfather’s worth forty mark .

Henry IV, Part 1

How ? The Prince is a jack , a sneak-up .
’Sblood , an he were here , I would cudgel him like a
dog if he would say so .



How now , lad , is the wind in that door , i’ faith ? Must
we all march ?

Henry IV, Part 1

Hostess , I forgive thee . Go make ready
breakfast , love thy husband , look to thy servants ,
cherish thy guests . Thou shalt find me tractable
to any honest reason . Thou seest I am pacified still .
Nay , prithee , begone . Now , Hal , to
the news at court . For the robbery , lad , how is that
answered ?

Henry IV, Part 1


Sick now ? Droop now ? This sickness doth infect
The very lifeblood of our enterprise .
’Tis catching hither , even to our camp .
He writes me here that inward sickness —
And that his friends by deputation
Could not so soon be drawn , nor did he think it
meet
To lay so dangerous and dear a trust
On any soul removed but on his own ;
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement
That with our small conjunction we should on
To see how fortune is disposed to us ,
For , as he writes , there is no quailing now ,
Because the King is certainly possessed
Of all our purposes . What say you to it ?

Henry IV, Part 1


A rendezvous , a home to fly unto ,
If that the devil and mischance look big
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs .

Henry IV, Part 1


But yet I would your father had been here .
The quality and hair of our attempt
Brooks no division . It will be thought
By some that know not why he is away
That wisdom , loyalty , and mere dislike
Of our proceedings kept the Earl from hence .
And think how such an apprehension
May turn the tide of fearful faction
And breed a kind of question in our cause .
For well you know , we of the off’ring side
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrament ,
And stop all sight-holes , every loop from whence
The eye of reason may pry in upon us .
This absence of your father’s draws a curtain
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt of .

Henry IV, Part 1


No more , no more ! Worse than the sun in March
This praise doth nourish agues . Let them come .
They come like sacrifices in their trim ,
And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war
All hot and bleeding will we offer them .
The mailèd Mars shall on his altar sit
Up to the ears in blood . I am on fire
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh
And yet not ours . Come , let me taste my horse ,
Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt
Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales .
Harry to Harry shall , hot horse to horse ,
Meet and ne’er part till one drop down a corse .
O , that Glendower were come !

Henry IV, Part 1

Faith , Sir John , ’tis more than time
that I were there and you too , but my powers are
there already . The King , I can tell you , looks for us
all . We must away all night .

Henry IV, Part 1


Why say you so ? Looks he not for supply ?

Henry IV, Part 1


The King is kind , and well we know the King
Knows at what time to promise , when to pay .
My father and my uncle and myself
Did give him that same royalty he wears ,
And when he was not six-and-twenty strong ,
Sick in the world’s regard , wretched and low ,
A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home ,
My father gave him welcome to the shore ;
And when he heard him swear and vow to God
He came but to be Duke of Lancaster ,
To sue his livery , and beg his peace
With tears of innocency and terms of zeal ,
My father , in kind heart and pity moved ,
Swore him assistance and performed it too .
Now when the lords and barons of the realm
Perceived Northumberland did lean to him ,
The more and less came in with cap and knee ,
Met him in boroughs , cities , villages ,
Attended him on bridges , stood in lanes ,
Laid gifts before him , proffered him their oaths ,
Gave him their heirs as pages , followed him
Even at the heels in golden multitudes .
He presently , as greatness knows itself ,
Steps me a little higher than his vow
Made to my father while his blood was poor
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh ,
And now forsooth takes on him to reform
Some certain edicts and some strait decrees
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth ,
Cries out upon abuses , seems to weep
Over his country’s wrongs , and by this face ,
This seeming brow of justice , did he win
The hearts of all that he did angle for ,
Proceeded further — cut me off the heads
Of all the favorites that the absent king
In deputation left behind him here
When he was personal in the Irish war .

Henry IV, Part 1


How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon bulky hill . The day looks pale
At his distemp’rature .

Henry IV, Part 1


It pleased your Majesty to turn your looks
Of favor from myself and all our house ;
And yet I must remember you , my lord ,
We were the first and dearest of your friends .
For you my staff of office did I break
In Richard’s time , and posted day and night
To meet you on the way and kiss your hand
When yet you were in place and in account
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I .
It was myself , my brother , and his son
That brought you home and boldly did outdare
The dangers of the time . You swore to us ,
And you did swear that oath at Doncaster ,
That you did nothing purpose ’gainst the state ,
Nor claim no further than your new-fall’n right ,
The seat of Gaunt , dukedom of Lancaster .
To this we swore our aid . But in short space
It rained down fortune show’ring on your head ,
And such a flood of greatness fell on you —
What with our help , what with the absent king ,
What with the injuries of a wanton time ,
The seeming sufferances that you had borne ,
And the contrarious winds that held the King
So long in his unlucky Irish wars
That all in England did repute him dead —
And from this swarm of fair advantages
You took occasion to be quickly wooed
To gripe the general sway into your hand ,
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ;
And being fed by us , you used us so
As that ungentle gull , the cuckoo’s bird ,
Useth the sparrow — did oppress our nest ,
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk
That even our love durst not come near your sight
For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing
We were enforced for safety sake to fly
Out of your sight and raise this present head ,
Whereby we stand opposèd by such means
As you yourself have forged against yourself
By unkind usage , dangerous countenance ,
And violation of all faith and troth
Sworn to us in your younger enterprise .

Henry IV, Part 1


In both your armies there is many a soul
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter
If once they join in trial . Tell your nephew ,
The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Henry Percy . By my hopes ,
This present enterprise set off his head ,
I do not think a braver gentleman ,
More active-valiant , or more valiant-young ,
More daring or more bold , is now alive
To grace this latter age with noble deeds .
For my part , I may speak it to my shame ,
I have a truant been to chivalry ,
And so I hear he doth account me too .
Yet this before my father’s majesty :
I am content that he shall take the odds
Of his great name and estimation ,
And will , to save the blood on either side ,
Try fortune with him in a single fight .

Henry IV, Part 1

Then are we all undone .
It is not possible , it cannot be
The King should keep his word in loving us .
He will suspect us still and find a time
To punish this offense in other faults .
Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of
eyes ,
For treason is but trusted like the fox ,
Who , never so tame , so cherished and locked up ,
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors .
Look how we can , or sad or merrily ,
Interpretation will misquote our looks ,
And we shall feed like oxen at a stall ,
The better cherished still the nearer death .
My nephew’s trespass may be well forgot ;
It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood ,
And an adopted name of privilege —
A harebrained Hotspur governed by a spleen .
All his offenses live upon my head
And on his father’s . We did train him on ,
And his corruption being ta’en from us ,
We as the spring of all shall pay for all .
Therefore , good cousin , let not Harry know
In any case the offer of the King .

Henry IV, Part 1


Cousin , I think thou art enamorèd
On his follies . Never did I hear
Of any prince so wild a liberty .
But be he as he will , yet once ere night
I will embrace him with a soldier’s arm
That he shall shrink under my courtesy . —
Arm , arm with speed , and , fellows , soldiers ,
friends ,
Better consider what you have to do
Than I that have not well the gift of tongue
Can lift your blood up with persuasion .

Henry IV, Part 1


I thank him that he cuts me from my tale ,
For I profess not talking . Only this :
Let each man do his best . And here draw I a sword ,
Whose temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withal
In the adventure of this perilous day .
Now , Esperance ! Percy ! And set on .
Sound all the lofty instruments of war ,
And by that music let us all embrace ,
For , heaven to Earth earth , some of us never shall
A second time do such a courtesy .

Henry IV, Part 1

Well , if Percy be alive , I’ll pierce him . If he do
come in my way , so ; if he do not , if I come in his
willingly , let him make a carbonado of me . I like not
such grinning honor as Sir Walter hath . Give me
life , which , if I can save , so : if not , honor comes
unlooked for , and there’s an end .

Henry IV, Part 1


I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point
With lustier maintenance than I did look for
Of such an ungrown warrior .

Henry IV, Part 1


For worms , brave Percy . Fare thee well , great heart .
Ill-weaved ambition , how much art thou shrunk !
When that this body did contain a spirit ,
A kingdom for it was too small a bound ,
But now two paces of the vilest earth
Is room enough . This earth that bears thee dead
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman .
If thou wert sensible of courtesy ,
I should not make so dear a show of zeal .
But let my favors hide thy mangled face ;

And even in thy behalf I’ll thank myself
For doing these fair rites of tenderness .
Adieu , and take thy praise with thee to heaven .
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave ,
But not remembered in thy epitaph .

What , old acquaintance , could not all this flesh
Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack , farewell .
I could have better spared a better man .
O , I should have a heavy miss of thee
If I were much in love with vanity .
Death hath not struck so fat a deer today ,
Though many dearer in this bloody fray .
Emboweled will I see thee by and by ;
Till then in blood by noble Percy lie .

Henry IV, Part 1

Emboweled ? If thou embowel me today , I’ll
give you leave to powder me and eat me too
tomorrow . ’Sblood , ’twas time to counterfeit , or
that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot
too . Counterfeit ? I lie . I am no counterfeit . To die is
to be a counterfeit , for he is but the counterfeit of a
man who hath not the life of a man ; but to counterfeit
dying when a man thereby liveth is to be no
counterfeit , but the true and perfect image of life
indeed . The better part of valor is discretion , in the
which better part I have saved my life . Zounds , I am
afraid of this gunpowder Percy , though he be dead .
How if he should counterfeit too , and rise ? By my
faith , I am afraid he would prove the better counterfeit .
Therefore I’ll make him sure , yea , and I’ll swear
I killed him . Why may not he rise as well as I ?
Nothing confutes me but eyes , and nobody sees me .
Therefore , sirrah , with a new wound
in your thigh , come you along with me .

Henry IV, Part 1

No , that’s certain . I am not a double man .
But if I be not Jack Falstaff , then am I a jack . There
is Percy . If your father will do me any honor , so ; if
not , let him kill the next Percy himself . I look to be
either earl or duke , I can assure you .

Henry IV, Part 2


Open your ears , for which of you will stop
The vent of hearing when loud Rumor speaks ?
I , from the orient to the drooping west ,
Making the wind my post-horse , still unfold
The acts commencèd on this ball of earth .
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride ,
The which in every language I pronounce ,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports .
I speak of peace while covert enmity
Under the smile of safety wounds the world .
And who but Rumor , who but only I ,
Make fearful musters and prepared defense
Whiles the big year , swoll’n with some other grief ,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war ,
And no such matter ? Rumor is a pipe
Blown by surmises , jealousies , conjectures ,
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads ,
The still-discordant wav’ring multitude ,
Can play upon it . But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household ? Why is Rumor here ?
I run before King Harry’s victory ,
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops ,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebels’ blood . But what mean I
To speak so true at first ? My office is
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur’s sword ,
And that the King before the Douglas’ rage
Stooped his anointed head as low as death .
This have I rumored through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone ,
Where Hotspur’s father , old Northumberland ,
Lies crafty-sick . The posts come tiring on ,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learnt of me . From Rumor’s
tongues
They bring smooth comforts false , worse than
true wrongs .

Henry IV, Part 2


What news , Lord Bardolph ? Every minute now
Should be the father of some stratagem .
The times are wild . Contention , like a horse
Full of high feeding , madly hath broke loose
And bears down all before him .

Henry IV, Part 2


My lord , Sir John Umfrevile turned me back
With joyful tidings and , being better horsed ,
Outrode me . After him came spurring hard
A gentleman , almost forspent with speed ,
That stopped by me to breathe his bloodied horse .
He asked the way to Chester , and of him
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury .
He told me that rebellion had bad luck
And that young Harry Percy’s spur was cold .
With that he gave his able horse the head
And , bending forward , struck his armèd heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head , and starting so
He seemed in running to devour the way ,
Staying no longer question .

Henry IV, Part 2

Who , he ?
He was some hilding fellow that had stol’n
The horse he rode on and , upon my life ,
Spoke at a venture .



Look , here comes more news .

Henry IV, Part 2


Yea , this man’s brow , like to a title leaf ,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume .
So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witnessed usurpation . —
Say , Morton , didst thou come from Shrewsbury ?

Henry IV, Part 2

How doth my son and brother ?
Thou tremblest , and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand .
Even such a man , so faint , so spiritless ,
So dull , so dead in look , so woebegone ,
Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night
And would have told him half his Troy was burnt ;
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue ,
And I my Percy’s death ere thou report’st it .
This thou wouldst say : Your son did thus and thus ;
Your brother thus ; so fought the noble Douglas —
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds .
But in the end , to stop my ear indeed ,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise ,
Ending with Brother , son , and all are dead .

Henry IV, Part 2


I am sorry I should force you to believe
That which I would to God I had not seen ,
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state ,
Rend’ring faint quittance , wearied and outbreathed ,
To Harry Monmouth , whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth ,
From whence with life he never more sprung up .
In few , his death , whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp ,
Being bruited once , took fire and heat away
From the best-tempered courage in his troops ;
For from his mettle was his party steeled ,
Which , once in him abated , all the rest
Turned on themselves , like dull and heavy lead .
And as the thing that’s heavy in itself
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed ,
So did our men , heavy in Hotspur’s loss ,
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim
Than did our soldiers , aiming at their safety ,
Fly from the field . Then was that noble Worcester
So soon ta’en prisoner ; and that furious Scot ,
The bloody Douglas , whose well-laboring sword
Had three times slain th’ appearance of the King ,
Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame
Of those that turned their backs and in his flight ,
Stumbling in fear , was took . The sum of all
Is that the King hath won and hath sent out
A speedy power to encounter you , my lord ,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster
And Westmoreland . This is the news at full .

Henry IV, Part 2


For this I shall have time enough to mourn .
In poison there is physic , and these news ,
Having been well , that would have made me sick ,
Being sick , have in some measure made me well .
And as the wretch whose fever-weakened joints ,
Like strengthless hinges , buckle under life ,
Impatient of his fit , breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper’s arms , even so my limbs ,
Weakened with grief , being now enraged with
grief ,
Are thrice themselves . Hence therefore , thou
nice crutch .
A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel
Must glove this hand . And hence , thou sickly
coif .
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head
Which princes , fleshed with conquest , aim to hit .
Now bind my brows with iron , and approach
The ragged’st hour that time and spite dare bring
To frown upon th’ enraged Northumberland .
Let heaven kiss Earth earth ! Now let not Nature’s hand
Keep the wild flood confined . Let order die ,
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a lingering act ;
But let one spirit of the firstborn Cain
Reign in all bosoms , that , each heart being set
On bloody courses , the rude scene may end ,
And darkness be the burier of the dead .

Henry IV, Part 2


’Tis more than time . — And , my most noble lord ,
I hear for certain , and dare speak the truth :
The gentle Archbishop of York is up
With well-appointed powers . He is a man
Who with a double surety binds his followers .
My lord your son had only but the corpse ,
But shadows and the shows of men , to fight ;
For that same word rebellion did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls ,
And they did fight with queasiness , constrained ,
As men drink potions , that their weapons only
Seemed on our side . But , for their spirits and
souls ,
This word rebellion , it had froze them up
As fish are in a pond . But now the Bishop
Turns insurrection to religion .
Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts ,
He’s followed both with body and with mind ,
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair King Richard , scraped from Pomfret
stones ;
Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause ;
Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land ,
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ;
And more and less do flock to follow him .

Henry IV, Part 2

Let him be damned like the glutton ! Pray
God his tongue be hotter ! A whoreson Achitophel , a
rascally yea-forsooth knave , to bear a gentleman in
hand and then stand upon security ! The whoreson
smoothy-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes
and bunches of keys at their girdles ; and if a man is
through with them in honest taking up , then they
must stand upon security . I had as lief they would
put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with
security . I looked he should have sent me two-and-twenty
yards of satin , as I am a true knight , and
he sends me security . Well , he may sleep in
security , for he hath the horn of abundance , and the
lightness of his wife shines through it , and yet
cannot he see though he have his own lantern to
light him . Where’s Bardolph ?

Henry IV, Part 2

This apoplexy , as I take it , is a kind of
lethargy , an ’t please your Lordship , a kind of
sleeping in the blood , a whoreson tingling .

Henry IV, Part 2

Not so , my lord . Your ill angel is light , but I
hope he that looks upon me will take me without
weighing . And yet in some respects I grant I cannot
go . I cannot tell . Virtue is of so little regard in these
costermongers’ times that true valor is turned bearherd ;
pregnancy is made a tapster , and hath his
quick wit wasted in giving reckonings . All the other
gifts appurtenant to man , as the malice of this age
shapes them , are not worth a gooseberry . You that
are old consider not the capacities of us that are
young . You do measure the heat of our livers with
the bitterness of your galls , and we that are in the
vaward of our youth , I must confess , are wags too .

Henry IV, Part 2

Yea , I thank your pretty sweet wit for it . But
look you pray , all you that kiss my Lady Peace at
home , that our armies join not in a hot day , for , by
the Lord , I take but two shirts out with me , and I
mean not to sweat extraordinarily . If it be a hot day
and I brandish anything but a bottle , I would I
might never spit white again . There is not a dangerous
action can peep out his head but I am thrust
upon it . Well , I cannot last ever . But it was always
yet the trick of our English nation , if they have a
good thing , to make it too common . If you will
needs say I am an old man , you should give me rest .
I would to God my name were not so terrible to the
enemy as it is . I were better to be eaten to death
with a rust than to be scoured to nothing with
perpetual motion .

Henry IV, Part 2


I well allow the occasion of our arms ,
But gladly would be better satisfied
How in our means we should advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the King .

Henry IV, Part 2

Yea , marry , there’s the point .
But if without him we be thought too feeble ,
My judgment is we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand .
For in a theme so bloody-faced as this ,
Conjecture , expectation , and surmise
Of aids incertain should not be admitted .

Henry IV, Part 2

Is ’t come to that ? I had thought weariness durst
not have attached one of so high blood .

Henry IV, Part 2

Why , a prince should not be so loosely studied
as to remember so weak a composition .

Henry IV, Part 2

And the boy that I gave Falstaff . He had him
from me Christian , and look if the fat villain have
not transformed him ape .

Henry IV, Part 2

I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as
my dog , and he holds his place , for look you how he
writes .

Henry IV, Part 2

John Falstaff , knight .
Every man must know that as oft as he has occasion
to name himself , even like those that are kin to the
King , for they never prick their finger but they say
There’s some of the King’s blood spilt . How
comes that ? says he that takes upon him not to
conceive . The answer is as ready as a borrower’s
cap : I am the King’s poor cousin , sir .

Henry IV, Part 2


O yet , for God’s sake , go not to these wars .
The time was , father , that you broke your word
When you were more endeared to it than now ,
When your own Percy , when my heart’s dear Harry ,
Threw many a northward look to see his father
Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain .
Who then persuaded you to stay at home ?
There were two honors lost , yours and your son’s .
For yours , the God of heaven brighten it .
For his , it stuck upon him as the sun
In the gray vault of heaven , and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts . He was indeed the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves .
He had no legs that practiced not his gait ;
And speaking thick , which nature made his blemish ,
Became the accents of the valiant ;
For those that could speak low and tardily
Would turn their own perfection to abuse
To seem like him . So that in speech , in gait ,
In diet , in affections of delight ,
In military rules , humors of blood ,
He was the mark and glass , copy and book ,
That fashioned others . And him — O wondrous him !
O miracle of men ! — him did you leave ,
Second to none , unseconded by you ,
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage , to abide a field
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur’s name
Did seem defensible . So you left him .
Never , O never , do his ghost the wrong
To hold your honor more precise and nice
With others than with him . Let them alone .
The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong .
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers ,
Today might I , hanging on Hotspur’s neck ,
Have talked of Monmouth’s grave .

Henry IV, Part 2

I’ faith , sweetheart , methinks now you are in
an excellent good temperality . Your pulsidge beats
as extraordinarily as heart would desire , and your
color , I warrant you , is as red as any rose , in good
truth , la . But , i’ faith , you have drunk too much
canaries , and that’s a marvellous searching wine ,
and it perfumes the blood ere one can say What’s
this ? How do you now ?

Henry IV, Part 2

Cheater call you him ? I will bar no honest
man my house , nor no cheater , but I do not love
swaggering . By my troth , I am the worse when one
says swagger . Feel , masters , how I shake ; look
you , I warrant you .

Henry IV, Part 2

Captain ? Thou abominable damned cheater , art
thou not ashamed to be called captain ? An captains
were of my mind , they would truncheon you out for
taking their names upon you before you have
earned them . You a captain ? You slave , for what ?
For tearing a poor whore’s ruff in a bawdy house ?
He a captain ! Hang him , rogue . He lives upon
mouldy stewed prunes and dried cakes . A captain ?
God’s light , these villains will make the word as
odious as the word occupy , which was an excellent
good word before it was ill sorted . Therefore
captains had need look to ’t .

Henry IV, Part 2

Look whe’er the withered elder hath not his
poll clawed like a parrot .

Henry IV, Part 2

And look whether the fiery trigon , his man , be
not lisping to his master’s old tables , his notebook ,
his counsel keeper .

Henry IV, Part 2

Thou whoreson mad compound
of majesty , by this light flesh and corrupt blood ,
thou art welcome .

Henry IV, Part 2

Who knocks so loud at door ? Look to th’ door
there , Francis .

Henry IV, Part 2

It is very just . Look , here comes good Sir
John . — Give me your good hand , give me your
Worship’s good hand . By my troth , you like well and
bear your years very well . Welcome , good Sir John .

Henry IV, Part 2

Then , my lord ,
Unto your Grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech . If that rebellion
Came like itself , in base and abject routs ,
Led on by bloody youth , guarded with rage ,
And countenanced by boys and beggary —
I say , if damned commotion so appeared
In his true , native , and most proper shape ,
You , reverend father , and these noble lords
Had not been here to dress the ugly form
Of base and bloody insurrection
With your fair honors . You , Lord Archbishop ,
Whose see is by a civil peace maintained ,
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touched ,
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutored ,
Whose white investments figure innocence ,
The dove and very blessèd spirit of peace ,
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself
Out of the speech of peace , that bears such grace ,
Into the harsh and boist’rous tongue of war ,
Turning your books to graves , your ink to blood ,
Your pens to lances , and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet and a point of war ?

Henry IV, Part 2


Wherefore do I this ? So the question stands .
Briefly , to this end : we are all diseased
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever ,
And we must bleed for it ; of which disease
Our late King Richard , being infected , died .
But , my most noble Lord of Westmoreland ,
I take not on me here as a physician ,
Nor do I as an enemy to peace
Troop in the throngs of military men ,
But rather show awhile like fearful war
To diet rank minds sick of happiness
And purge th’ obstructions which begin to stop
Our very veins of life . Hear me more plainly .
I have in equal balance justly weighed
What wrongs our arms may do , what wrongs we
suffer ,
And find our griefs heavier than our offenses .
We see which way the stream of time doth run
And are enforced from our most quiet there
By the rough torrent of occasion ,
And have the summary of all our griefs ,
When time shall serve , to show in articles ;
Which long ere this we offered to the King
And might by no suit gain our audience .
When we are wronged and would unfold our griefs ,
We are denied access unto his person
Even by those men that most have done us wrong .
The dangers of the days but newly gone ,
Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet-appearing blood , and the examples
Of every minute’s instance , present now ,
Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms ,
Not to break peace or any branch of it ,
But to establish here a peace indeed ,
Concurring both in name and quality .

Henry IV, Part 2


Whenever yet was your appeal denied ?
Wherein have you been gallèd by the King ?
What peer hath been suborned to grate on you ,
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forged rebellion with a seal divine
And consecrate commotion’s bitter edge ?

Henry IV, Part 2


I like them all , and do allow them well ,
And swear here by the honor of my blood
My father’s purposes have been mistook ,
And some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority .
My lord , these griefs shall be
with speed redressed ;
Upon my soul , they shall . If this may please you ,
Discharge your powers unto their several counties ,
As we will ours , and here , between the armies ,
Let’s drink together friendly and embrace ,
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home
Of our restorèd love and amity .

Henry IV, Part 2

I pawned thee none .
I promised you redress of these same grievances
Whereof you did complain , which , by mine honor ,
I will perform with a most Christian care .
But for you rebels , look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours .
Most shallowly did you these arms commence ,
Fondly brought here , and foolishly sent hence . —
Strike up our drums ; pursue the scattered stray .
God , and not we , hath safely fought today . —
Some guard these traitors to the block of death ,
Treason’s true bed and yielder-up of breath .

Henry IV, Part 2

I would you had but the wit ; ’twere better
than your dukedom . Good faith , this same young
sober-blooded boy doth not love me , nor a man
cannot make him laugh . But that’s no marvel ; he
drinks no wine . There’s never none of these demure
boys come to any proof , for thin drink doth so
overcool their blood , and making many fish meals ,
that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness , and
then , when they marry , they get wenches . They are
generally fools and cowards , which some of us
should be too , but for inflammation . A good sherris
sack hath a two-fold operation in it . It ascends me
into the brain , dries me there all the foolish and
dull and crudy vapors which environ it , makes it
apprehensive , quick , forgetive , full of nimble , fiery ,
and delectable shapes , which , delivered o’er to the
voice , the tongue , which is the birth , becomes
excellent wit . The second property of your excellent
sherris is the warming of the blood , which ,
before cold and settled , left the liver white and pale ,
which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice .
But the sherris warms it and makes it course from
the inwards to the parts’ extremes . It illumineth the
face , which as a beacon gives warning to all the rest
of this little kingdom , man , to arm ; and then the
vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me
all to their captain , the heart , who , great and puffed
up with this retinue , doth any deed of courage , and
this valor comes of sherris . So that skill in the
weapon is nothing without sack , for that sets it
a-work ; and learning a mere hoard of gold kept
by a devil till sack commences it and sets it in
act and use . Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is
valiant , for the cold blood he did naturally inherit
of his father he hath , like lean , sterile , and bare
land , manured , husbanded , and tilled with excellent
endeavor of drinking good and good store
of fertile sherris , that he is become very hot and valiant .
If I had a thousand sons , the first human principle
I would teach them should be to forswear
thin potations and to addict themselves to sack .



How now , Bardolph ?

Henry IV, Part 2


Nothing but well to thee , Thomas of Clarence .
How chance thou art not with the Prince thy
brother ?
He loves thee , and thou dost neglect him , Thomas .
Thou hast a better place in his affection
Than all thy brothers . Cherish it , my boy ,
And noble offices thou mayst effect
Of mediation , after I am dead ,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren .
Therefore omit him not , blunt not his love ,
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace
By seeming cold or careless of his will .
For he is gracious if he be observed ;
He hath a tear for pity , and a hand
Open as day for melting charity ;
Yet notwithstanding , being incensed he is flint ,
As humorous as winter , and as sudden
As flaws congealèd in the spring of day .
His temper therefore must be well observed .
Chide him for faults , and do it reverently ,
When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth ;
But , being moody , give him time and scope
Till that his passions , like a whale on ground ,
Confound themselves with working . Learn this ,
Thomas ,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends ,
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in ,
That the united vessel of their blood ,
Mingled with venom of suggestion
( As , force perforce , the age will pour it in ) ,
Shall never leak , though it do work as strong
As aconitum or rash gunpowder .

Henry IV, Part 2


Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds ,
And he , the noble image of my youth ,
Is overspread with them ; therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death .
The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape ,
In forms imaginary , th’ unguided days
And rotten times that you shall look upon
When I am sleeping with my ancestors .
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb ,
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors ,
When means and lavish manners meet together ,
O , with what wings shall his affections fly
Towards fronting peril and opposed decay !

Henry IV, Part 2


My gracious lord , you look beyond him quite .
The Prince but studies his companions
Like a strange tongue , wherein , to gain the
language ,
’Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be looked upon and learned ; which , once attained ,
Your Highness knows , comes to no further use
But to be known and hated . So , like gross terms ,
The Prince will , in the perfectness of time ,
Cast off his followers , and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live ,
By which his Grace must mete the lives of others ,
Turning past evils to advantages .

Henry IV, Part 2


O Westmoreland , thou art a summer bird ,
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day .



Look , here’s more news .

Henry IV, Part 2


My sovereign lord , cheer up yourself , look up .

Henry IV, Part 2


No , no , he cannot long hold out these pangs .
Th’ incessant care and labor of his mind
Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in
So thin that life looks through and will break out .

Henry IV, Part 2


No , I will sit and watch here by the King .

Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow ,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow ?
O polished perturbation , golden care ,
That keep’st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night ! Sleep with it now ;
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
Snores out the watch of night . O majesty ,
When thou dost pinch thy bearer , thou dost sit
Like a rich armor worn in heat of day ,
That scald’st with safety . By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather which stirs not ;
Did he suspire , that light and weightless down
Perforce must move . My gracious lord , my father ,
This sleep is sound indeed . This is a sleep
That from this golden rigol hath divorced
So many English kings . Thy due from me
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood ,
Which nature , love , and filial tenderness
Shall , O dear father , pay thee plenteously .
My due from thee is this imperial crown ,
Which , as immediate from thy place and blood ,
Derives itself to me . Lo ,
where it sits ,
Which God shall guard . And , put the world’s whole
strength
Into one giant arm , it shall not force
This lineal honor from me . This from thee
Will I to mine leave , as ’tis left to me .

Henry IV, Part 2


My lord , I found the Prince in the next room ,
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ,
With such a deep demeanor in great sorrow
That tyranny , which never quaffed but blood ,
Would , by beholding him , have washed his knife
With gentle eyedrops . He is coming hither .

Henry IV, Part 2


O pardon me , my liege ! But for my tears ,
The moist impediments unto my speech ,
I had forestalled this dear and deep rebuke
Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard
The course of it so far . There is your crown ,
And He that wears the crown immortally
Long guard it yours . If I affect it
more
Than as your honor and as your renown ,
Let me no more from this obedience rise ,
Which my most inward true and duteous spirit
Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending .
God witness with me , when I here came in
And found no course of breath within your Majesty ,
How cold it struck my heart ! If I do feign ,
O , let me in my present wildness die
And never live to show th’ incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposèd .
Coming to look on you , thinking you dead ,
And dead almost , my liege , to think you were ,
I spake unto this crown as having sense ,
And thus upbraided it : The care on thee
depending
Hath fed upon the body of my father ;
Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold .
Other , less fine in carat , is more precious ,
Preserving life in med’cine potable ;
But thou , most fine , most honored , most renowned ,
Hast eat thy bearer up . Thus , my most royal liege ,
Accusing it , I put it on my head
To try with it , as with an enemy
That had before my face murdered my father ,
The quarrel of a true inheritor .
But if it did infect my blood with joy
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ,
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did with the least affection of a welcome
Give entertainment to the might of it ,
Let God forever keep it from my head
And make me as the poorest vassal is
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it .

Henry IV, Part 2

O my son ,
God put it in thy mind to take it hence
That thou mightst win the more thy father’s love ,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it .
Come hither , Harry , sit thou by my bed
And hear , I think , the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe .

God knows , my son ,
By what bypaths and indirect crook’d ways
I met this crown , and I myself know well
How troublesome it sat upon my head .
To thee it shall descend with better quiet ,
Better opinion , better confirmation ,
For all the soil of the achievement goes
With me into the earth . It seemed in me
But as an honor snatched with boist’rous hand ,
And I had many living to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances ,
Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed ,
Wounding supposèd peace . All these bold fears
Thou seest with peril I have answerèd ,
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument . And now my death
Changes the mood , for what in me was purchased
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort .
So thou the garland wear’st successively .
Yet though thou stand’st more sure than I could do ,
Thou art not firm enough , since griefs are green ,
And all my friends , which thou must make thy
friends ,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta’en out ,
By whose fell working I was first advanced
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displaced ; which to avoid ,
I cut them off and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land ,
Lest rest and lying still might make them look
Too near unto my state . Therefore , my Harry ,
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels , that action , hence borne
out ,
May waste the memory of the former days .
More would I , but my lungs are wasted so
That strength of speech is utterly denied me .
How I came by the crown , O God forgive ,
And grant it may with thee in true peace live .

Henry IV, Part 2


Look , look , here comes my John of Lancaster .

Henry IV, Part 2

Go to , I say , he shall have no wrong . Look
about , Davy . Where are you , Sir John ?
Come , come , come , off with your boots . — Give me
your hand , Master Bardolph .

Henry IV, Part 2

I’ll follow you , good Master Robert Shallow .
Bardolph , look to our horses . If I were sawed into quantities ,
I should make four dozen of such bearded hermits’
staves as Master Shallow . It is a wonderful thing to
see the semblable coherence of his men’s spirits
and his . They , by observing of him , do bear
themselves like foolish justices ; he , by conversing
with them , is turned into a justice-like servingman .
Their spirits are so married in conjunction with the
participation of society that they flock together in
consent like so many wild geese . If I had a suit to
Master Shallow , I would humor his men with the
imputation of being near their master ; if to his men ,
I would curry with Master Shallow that no man
could better command his servants . It is certain
that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is
caught , as men take diseases , one of another . Therefore
let men take heed of their company . I will
devise matter enough out of this Shallow to keep
Prince Harry in continual laughter the wearing out
of six fashions , which is four terms , or two actions ,
and he shall laugh without intervallums . O , it is
much that a lie with a slight oath and a jest with a
sad brow will do with a fellow that never had the
ache in his shoulders . O , you shall see him laugh till
his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up .

Henry IV, Part 2


I know he doth not , and do arm myself
To welcome the condition of the time ,
Which cannot look more hideously upon me
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy .

Henry IV, Part 2


You all look strangely on me .
And you most .
You are , I think , assured I love you not .

Henry IV, Part 2


I then did use the person of your father ;
The image of his power lay then in me .
And in th’ administration of his law ,
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth ,
Your Highness pleasèd to forget my place ,
The majesty and power of law and justice ,
The image of the King whom I presented ,
And struck me in my very seat of judgment ,
Whereon , as an offender to your father ,
I gave bold way to my authority
And did commit you . If the deed were ill ,
Be you contented , wearing now the garland ,
To have a son set your decrees at nought ?
To pluck down justice from your awful bench ?
To trip the course of law and blunt the sword
That guards the peace and safety of your person ?
Nay more , to spurn at your most royal image
And mock your workings in a second body ?
Question your royal thoughts , make the case yours ;
Be now the father and propose a son ,
Hear your own dignity so much profaned ,
See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted ,
Behold yourself so by a son disdained ,
And then imagine me taking your part
And in your power soft silencing your son .
After this cold considerance , sentence me ,
And , as you are a king , speak in your state
What I have done that misbecame my place ,
My person , or my liege’s sovereignty .

Henry IV, Part 2


You are right , justice , and you weigh this well .
Therefore still bear the balance and the sword .
And I do wish your honors may increase
Till you do live to see a son of mine
Offend you and obey you as I did .
So shall I live to speak my father’s words :
Happy am I that have a man so bold
That dares do justice on my proper son ;
And not less happy , having such a son
That would deliver up his greatness so
Into the hands of justice . You did commit me ,
For which I do commit into your hand
Th’ unstainèd sword that you have used to bear ,
With this remembrance : that you use the same
With the like bold , just , and impartial spirit
As you have done ’gainst me . There is my hand .

You shall be as a father to my youth ,
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear ,
And I will stoop and humble my intents
To your well-practiced wise directions . —
And , princes all , believe me , I beseech you :
My father is gone wild into his grave ,
For in his tomb lie my affections ,
And with his spirits sadly I survive
To mock the expectation of the world ,
To frustrate prophecies , and to raze out
Rotten opinion , who hath writ me down
After my seeming . The tide of blood in me
Hath proudly flowed in vanity till now .
Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea ,
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods
And flow henceforth in formal majesty .
Now call we our high court of parliament ,
And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel
That the great body of our state may go
In equal rank with the best-governed nation ;
That war , or peace , or both at once , may be
As things acquainted and familiar to us ,
In which you , father , shall
have foremost hand .
Our coronation done , we will accite ,
As I before remembered , all our state .
And , God consigning to my good intents ,
No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say
God shorten Harry’s happy life one day .

Henry IV, Part 2

Why , there spoke a king . Lack nothing , be
merry . Look who’s at door
there , ho . Who knocks ?

Henry IV, Part 2

O the Lord , that Sir John were come ! I would
make this a bloody day to somebody . But I pray God
the fruit of her womb might miscarry .

Henry IV, Part 2

Ay , come , you starved bloodhound .

Henry IV, Part 2

That can hardly be , Master Shallow . Do not
you grieve at this . I shall be sent for in private to
him . Look you , he must seem thus to the world .
Fear not your advancements . I will be the man yet
that shall make you great .

Henry IV, Part 2


First my fear , then my curtsy , last my speech . My
fear is your displeasure , my curtsy my duty , and my
speech , to beg your pardons . If you look for a good
speech now , you undo me , for what I have to say is
of mine own making , and what indeed I should say
will , I doubt , prove mine own marring .
But to the purpose , and so to the venture . Be it
known to you , as it is very well , I was lately here in
the end of a displeasing play to pray your patience
for it and to promise you a better . I meant indeed to
pay you with this , which , if like an ill venture it
come unluckily home , I break , and you , my gentle
creditors , lose . Here I promised you I would be ,
and here I commit my body to your mercies . Bate
me some , and I will pay you some , and , as most
debtors do , promise you infinitely . And so I kneel
down before you , but , indeed , to pray for the
Queen .
If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me ,
will you command me to use my legs ? And yet that
were but light payment , to dance out of your debt .
But a good conscience will make any possible
satisfaction , and so would I . All the gentlewomen
here have forgiven me ; if the gentlemen will not ,
then the gentlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen ,
which was never seen before in such an
assembly .
One word more , I beseech you : if you be not too
much cloyed with fat meat , our humble author will
continue the story , with Sir John in it , and make
you merry with fair Katherine of France , where , for
anything I know , Falstaff shall die of a sweat , unless
already he be killed with your hard opinions ; for
Oldcastle died a martyr , and this is not the man .
My tongue is weary ; when my legs are too , I will bid
you good night .

Henry V


The courses of his youth promised it not .
The breath no sooner left his father’s body
But that his wildness , mortified in him ,
Seemed to die too . Yea , at that very moment
Consideration like an angel came
And whipped th’ offending Adam out of him ,
Leaving his body as a paradise
T’ envelop and contain celestial spirits .
Never was such a sudden scholar made ,
Never came reformation in a flood
With such a heady currance scouring faults ,
Nor never Hydra-headed willfulness
So soon did lose his seat , and all at once ,
As in this king .

Henry V


Hear him but reason in divinity
And , all-admiring , with an inward wish
You would desire the King were made a prelate ;
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs ,
You would say it hath been all in all his study ;
List his discourse of war , and you shall hear
A fearful battle rendered you in music ;
Turn him to any cause of policy ,
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose
Familiar as his garter ; that , when he speaks ,
The air , a chartered libertine , is still ,
And the mute wonder lurketh in men’s ears
To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences ;
So that the art and practic part of life
Must be the mistress to this theoric ;
Which is a wonder how his Grace should glean it ,
Since his addiction was to courses vain ,
His companies unlettered , rude , and shallow ,
His hours filled up with riots , banquets , sports ,
And never noted in him any study ,
Any retirement , any sequestration
From open haunts and popularity .

Henry V

Sure we thank you .
My learnèd lord , we pray you to proceed
And justly and religiously unfold
Why the law Salic that they have in France
Or should or should not bar us in our claim .
And God forbid , my dear and faithful lord ,
That you should fashion , wrest , or bow your
reading ,
Or nicely charge your understanding soul
With opening titles miscreate , whose right
Suits not in native colors with the truth ;
For God doth know how many now in health
Shall drop their blood in approbation
Of what your reverence shall incite us to .
Therefore take heed how you impawn our person ,
How you awake our sleeping sword of war .
We charge you in the name of God , take heed ,
For never two such kingdoms did contend
Without much fall of blood , whose guiltless drops
Are every one a woe , a sore complaint
’Gainst him whose wrongs gives edge unto the
swords
That makes such waste in brief mortality .
Under this conjuration , speak , my lord ,
For we will hear , note , and believe in heart
That what you speak is in your conscience washed
As pure as sin with baptism .

Henry V


Then hear me , gracious sovereign , and you peers
That owe yourselves , your lives , and services
To this imperial throne . There is no bar
To make against your Highness’ claim to France
But this , which they produce from Pharamond :
In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant
( No woman shall succeed in Salic land ) ,
Which Salic land the French unjustly gloze
To be the realm of France , and Pharamond
The founder of this law and female bar .
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm
That the land Salic is in Germany ,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe ,
Where Charles the Great , having subdued the
Saxons ,
There left behind and settled certain French ,
Who , holding in disdain the German women
For some dishonest manners of their life ,
Established then this law : to wit , no female
Should be inheritrix in Salic land ,
Which Salic , as I said , ’twixt Elbe and Sala
Is at this day in Germany called Meissen .
Then doth it well appear the Salic law
Was not devisèd for the realm of France ,
Nor did the French possess the Salic land
Until four hundred one and twenty years
After defunction of King Pharamond ,
Idly supposed the founder of this law ,
Who died within the year of our redemption
Four hundred twenty-six ; and Charles the Great
Subdued the Saxons and did seat the French
Beyond the river Sala in the year
Eight hundred five . Besides , their writers say ,
King Pepin , which deposèd Childeric ,
Did , as heir general , being descended
Of Blithild , which was daughter to King Clothair ,
Make claim and title to the crown of France .
Hugh Capet also , who usurped the crown
Of Charles the Duke of Lorraine , sole heir male
Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great ,
To find his title with some shows of truth ,
Though in pure truth it was corrupt and naught ,
Conveyed himself as th’ heir to th’ Lady Lingare ,
Daughter to Charlemagne , who was the son
To Lewis the Emperor , and Lewis the son
Of Charles the Great . Also King Lewis the Tenth ,
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet ,
Could not keep quiet in his conscience ,
Wearing the crown of France , till satisfied
That fair Queen Isabel , his grandmother ,
Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare ,
Daughter to Charles the foresaid Duke of Lorraine :
By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great
Was reunited to the crown of France .
So that , as clear as is the summer’s sun ,
King Pepin’s title and Hugh Capet’s claim ,
King Lewis his satisfaction , all appear
To hold in right and title of the female .
So do the kings of France unto this day ,
Howbeit they would hold up this Salic law
To bar your Highness claiming from the female ,
And rather choose to hide them in a net
Than amply to imbar their crooked titles
Usurped from you and your progenitors .

Henry V


The sin upon my head , dread sovereign ,
For in the Book of Numbers is it writ :
When the man dies , let the inheritance
Descend unto the daughter . Gracious lord ,
Stand for your own , unwind your bloody flag ,
Look back into your mighty ancestors .
Go , my dread lord , to your great-grandsire’s tomb ,
From whom you claim ; invoke his warlike spirit
And your great-uncle’s , Edward the Black Prince ,
Who on the French ground played a tragedy ,
Making defeat on the full power of France
Whiles his most mighty father on a hill
Stood smiling to behold his lion’s whelp
Forage in blood of French nobility .
O noble English , that could entertain
With half their forces the full pride of France
And let another half stand laughing by ,
All out of work and cold for action !

Henry V


Awake remembrance of these valiant dead
And with your puissant arm renew their feats .
You are their heir , you sit upon their throne ,
The blood and courage that renownèd them
Runs in your veins ; and my thrice-puissant liege
Is in the very May-morn of his youth ,
Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises .

Henry V


Your brother kings and monarchs of the Earth earth
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself
As did the former lions of your blood .

Henry V


O , let their bodies follow , my dear liege ,
With blood and sword and fire to win your right ,
In aid whereof we of the spiritualty
Will raise your Highness such a mighty sum
As never did the clergy at one time
Bring in to any of your ancestors .

Henry V


Therefore doth heaven divide
The state of man in divers functions ,
Setting endeavor in continual motion ,
To which is fixèd as an aim or butt
Obedience ; for so work the honeybees ,
Creatures that by a rule in nature teach
The act of order to a peopled kingdom .
They have a king and officers of sorts ,
Where some like magistrates correct at home ,
Others like merchants venture trade abroad ,
Others like soldiers armèd in their stings
Make boot upon the summer’s velvet buds ,
Which pillage they with merry march bring home
To the tent royal of their emperor ,
Who , busied in his majesty , surveys
The singing masons building roofs of gold ,
The civil citizens kneading up the honey ,
The poor mechanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ,
The sad-eyed justice with his surly hum
Delivering o’er to executors pale
The lazy yawning drone . I this infer :
That many things , having full reference
To one consent , may work contrariously ,
As many arrows loosèd several ways
Come to one mark , as many ways meet in one town ,
As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea ,
As many lines close in the dial’s center ,
So may a thousand actions , once afoot ,
End in one purpose and be all well borne
Without defeat . Therefore to France , my liege !
Divide your happy England into four ,
Whereof take you one quarter into France ,
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake .
If we , with thrice such powers left at home ,
Cannot defend our own doors from the dog ,
Let us be worried , and our nation lose
The name of hardiness and policy .

Henry V


We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us .
His present and your pains we thank you for .
When we have matched our rackets to these balls ,
We will in France , by God’s grace , play a set
Shall strike his father’s crown into the hazard .
Tell him he hath made a match with such a
wrangler
That all the courts of France will be disturbed
With chases . And we understand him well ,
How he comes o’er us with our wilder days ,
Not measuring what use we made of them .
We never valued this poor seat of England ,
And therefore , living hence , did give ourself
To barbarous license , as ’tis ever common
That men are merriest when they are from home .
But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state ,
Be like a king , and show my sail of greatness
When I do rouse me in my throne of France ,
For that I have laid by my majesty
And plodded like a man for working days ;
But I will rise there with so full a glory
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France ,
Yea , strike the Dauphin blind to look on us .
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his
Hath turned his balls to gun-stones , and his soul
Shall stand sore chargèd for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them ; for many a thousand
widows
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands ,
Mock mothers from their sons , mock castles down ;
And some are yet ungotten and unborn
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin’s scorn .
But this lies all within the will of God ,
To whom I do appeal , and in whose name
Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on ,
To venge me as I may and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallowed cause .
So get you hence in peace . And tell the Dauphin
His jest will savor but of shallow wit
When thousands weep more than did laugh at it . —
Convey them with safe conduct . — Fare you well .

Henry V


Let floods o’erswell and fiends for food howl on !

Henry V


Then Richard , Earl of Cambridge , there is yours —
There yours , Lord Scroop of Masham . — And , sir
knight ,
Grey of Northumberland , this same is yours . —
Read them , and know I know your worthiness . —
My Lord of Westmoreland and uncle Exeter ,
We will aboard tonight . — Why how now , gentlemen ?
What see you in those papers , that you lose
So much complexion ? — Look you , how they change .
Their cheeks are paper . — Why , what read you there
That have so cowarded and chased your blood
Out of appearance ?

Henry V


The mercy that was quick in us but late
By your own counsel is suppressed and killed .
You must not dare , for shame , to talk of mercy ,
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms
As dogs upon their masters , worrying you . —
See you , my princes and my noble peers ,
These English monsters . My Lord of Cambridge
here ,
You know how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with all appurtenants
Belonging to his honor , and this man
Hath , for a few light crowns , lightly conspired
And sworn unto the practices of France
To kill us here in Hampton ; to the which
This knight , no less for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is , hath likewise sworn . — But O ,
What shall I say to thee , Lord Scroop , thou cruel ,
Ingrateful , savage , and inhuman creature ?
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels ,
That knew’st the very bottom of my soul ,
That almost mightst have coined me into gold ,
Wouldst thou have practiced on me for thy use —
May it be possible that foreign hire
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil
That might annoy my finger ? ’Tis so strange
That , though the truth of it stands off as gross
As black and white , my eye will scarcely see it .
Treason and murder ever kept together ,
As two yoke-devils sworn to either’s purpose ,
Working so grossly in a natural cause
That admiration did not whoop at them .
But thou , ’gainst all proportion , didst bring in
Wonder to wait on treason and on murder ,
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was
That wrought upon thee so preposterously
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence .
All other devils that suggest by treasons
Do botch and bungle up damnation
With patches , colors , and with forms being fetched
From glist’ring semblances of piety ;
But he that tempered thee bade thee stand up ,
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason ,
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor .
If that same demon that hath gulled thee thus
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world ,
He might return to vasty Tartar back
And tell the legions I can never win
A soul so easy as that Englishman’s .
O , how hast thou with jealousy infected
The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful ?
Why , so didst thou . Seem they grave and learnèd ?
Why , so didst thou . Come they of noble family ?
Why , so didst thou . Seem they religious ?
Why , so didst thou . Or are they spare in diet ,
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger ,
Constant in spirit , not swerving with the blood ,
Garnished and decked in modest complement ,
Not working with the eye without the ear ,
And but in purgèd judgment trusting neither ?
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem .
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot
To mark the full-fraught man and best endued
With some suspicion . I will weep for thee ,
For this revolt of thine methinks is like
Another fall of man . — Their faults are open .
Arrest them to the answer of the law ,
And God acquit them of their practices .

Henry V

Come , let’s away . — My love , give me thy lips .
Look to my chattels and my movables .
Let senses rule . The word is Pitch and pay . Trust
none , for oaths are straws , men’s faiths are wafer-cakes ,
and Holdfast is the only dog , my duck .
Therefore , Caveto be thy counselor . Go , clear thy
crystals . — Yoke-fellows in arms , let us to France ,
like horse-leeches , my boys , to suck , to suck , the
very blood to suck .

Henry V

Think we King Harry strong ,
And , princes , look you strongly arm to meet him .
The kindred of him hath been fleshed upon us ,
And he is bred out of that bloody strain
That haunted us in our familiar paths .
Witness our too-much-memorable shame
When Cressy battle fatally was struck
And all our princes captived by the hand
Of that black name , Edward , Black Prince of
Wales ,
Whiles that his mountain sire , on mountain standing
Up in the air , crowned with the golden sun ,
Saw his heroical seed and smiled to see him
Mangle the work of nature and deface
The patterns that by God and by French fathers
Had twenty years been made . This is a stem
Of that victorious stock , and let us fear
The native mightiness and fate of him .

Henry V


From him , and thus he greets your Majesty :
He wills you , in the name of God almighty ,
That you divest yourself and lay apart
The borrowed glories that , by gift of heaven ,
By law of nature and of nations , ’longs
To him and to his heirs — namely , the crown
And all wide-stretchèd honors that pertain
By custom and the ordinance of times
Unto the crown of France . That you may know
’Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim
Picked from the wormholes of long-vanished days
Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked ,
He sends you this most memorable line ,

In every branch truly demonstrative ,
Willing you overlook this pedigree ,
And when you find him evenly derived
From his most famed of famous ancestors ,
Edward the Third , he bids you then resign
Your crown and kingdom , indirectly held
From him , the native and true challenger .

Henry V


Bloody constraint , for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts , there will he rake for it .
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming ,
In thunder and in earthquake like a Jove ,
That , if requiring fail , he will compel ,
And bids you , in the bowels of the Lord ,
Deliver up the crown and to take mercy
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
Opens his vasty jaws , and on your head
Turning the widows’ tears , the orphans’ cries ,
The dead men’s blood , the privèd maidens’
groans ,
For husbands , fathers , and betrothèd lovers
That shall be swallowed in this controversy .
This is his claim , his threat’ning , and my message —
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here ,
To whom expressly I bring greeting too .

Henry V


Once more unto the breach , dear friends , once
more ,
Or close the wall up with our English dead !
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility ,
But when the blast of war blows in our ears ,
Then imitate the action of the tiger :
Stiffen the sinews , summon up the blood ,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage ,
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ,
Let it pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon , let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a gallèd rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base
Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean .
Now set the teeth , and stretch the nostril wide ,
Hold hard the breath , and bend up every spirit
To his full height . On , on , you noblest English ,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof ,
Fathers that , like so many Alexanders ,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought ,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument .
Dishonor not your mothers . Now attest
That those whom you called fathers did beget you .
Be copy now to men of grosser blood
And teach them how to war . And you , good
yeomen ,
Whose limbs were made in England , show us here
The mettle of your pasture . Let us swear
That you are worth your breeding , which I doubt
not ,
For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not noble luster in your eyes .
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips ,
Straining upon the start . The game’s afoot .
Follow your spirit , and upon this charge
Cry God for Harry , England , and Saint George !

Henry V

The plainsong is most just , for humors do
abound .
Knocks go and come . God’s vassals drop and die ,
And sword and shield ,
In bloody field ,
Doth win immortal fame .

Henry V

To the mines ? Tell you the Duke it is not so
good to come to the mines , for , look you , the mines
is not according to the disciplines of the war . The
concavities of it is not sufficient , for , look you , th’
athversary , you may discuss unto the Duke , look
you , is digt himself four yard under the countermines .
By Cheshu , I think he will plow up all if
there is not better directions .

Henry V

By Cheshu , he is an ass , as in the world . I
will verify as much in his beard . He has no more
directions in the true disciplines of the wars , look
you , of the Roman disciplines , than is a puppy dog .

Henry V

Captain Macmorris , I beseech you now ,
will you voutsafe me , look you , a few disputations
with you as partly touching or concerning the
disciplines of the war , the Roman wars ? In the way
of argument , look you , and friendly communication ,
partly to satisfy my opinion , and partly for the
satisfaction , look you , of my mind , as touching the
direction of the military discipline , that is the point .

Henry V

Captain Macmorris , I think , look you , under
your correction , there is not many of your
nation —

Henry V

Look you , if you take the matter otherwise
than is meant , Captain Macmorris , peradventure I
shall think you do not use me with that affability as ,
in discretion , you ought to use me , look you , being
as good a man as yourself , both in the disciplines of
war and in the derivation of my birth , and in other
particularities .

Henry V

Captain Macmorris , when there is more
better opportunity to be required , look you , I will
be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of
war , and there is an end .

Henry V


How yet resolves the Governor of the town ?
This is the latest parle we will admit .
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves
Or , like to men proud of destruction ,
Defy us to our worst . For , as I am a soldier ,
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best ,
If I begin the batt’ry once again ,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur
Till in her ashes she lie burièd .
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up ,
And the fleshed soldier , rough and hard of heart ,
In liberty of bloody hand , shall range
With conscience wide as hell , mowing like grass
Your fresh fair virgins and your flow’ring infants .
What is it then to me if impious war ,
Arrayed in flames like to the prince of fiends ,
Do with his smirched complexion all fell feats
Enlinked to waste and desolation ?
What is ’t to me , when you yourselves are cause ,
If your pure maidens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing violation ?
What rein can hold licentious wickedness
When down the hill he holds his fierce career ?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon th’ enragèd soldiers in their spoil
As send precepts to the Leviathan
To come ashore . Therefore , you men of Harfleur ,
Take pity of your town and of your people
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ,
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
O’erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of heady murder , spoil , and villainy .
If not , why , in a moment look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
Desire the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters ,
Your fathers taken by the silver beards
And their most reverend heads dashed to the walls ,
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused
Do break the clouds , as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod’s bloody-hunting slaughtermen .
What say you ? Will you yield and this avoid
Or , guilty in defense , be thus destroyed ?

Henry V


Ô Dieu vivant , shall a few sprays of us ,
The emptying of our fathers’ luxury ,
Our scions , put in wild and savage stock ,
Spurt up so suddenly into the clouds
And overlook their grafters ?

Henry V


Dieu de batailles , where have they this mettle ?
Is not their climate foggy , raw , and dull ,
On whom , as in despite , the sun looks pale ,
Killing their fruit with frowns ? Can sodden water ,
A drench for sur-reined jades , their barley broth ,
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat ?
And shall our quick blood , spirited with wine ,
Seem frosty ? O , for honor of our land ,
Let us not hang like roping icicles
Upon our houses’ thatch , whiles a more frosty
people
Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields !
Poor we may call them in their native lords .

Henry V


Where is Montjoy the herald ? Speed him hence .
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance .
Up , princes , and , with spirit of honor edged
More sharper than your swords , hie to the field :
Charles Delabreth , High Constable of France ;
You Dukes of Orléans , Bourbon , and of Berri ,
Alençon , Brabant , Bar , and Burgundy ;
Jacques Chatillon , Rambures , Vaudemont ,
Beaumont , Grandpré , Roussi , and Faulconbridge ,
Foix , Lestrale , Bouciquault , and Charolois ;
High dukes , great princes , barons , lords , and
knights ,
For your great seats now quit you of great shames .
Bar Harry England , that sweeps through our land
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur .
Rush on his host , as doth the melted snow
Upon the valleys , whose low vassal seat
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon .
Go down upon him — you have power enough —
And in a captive chariot into Rouen
Bring him our prisoner .

Henry V

By your patience , Aunchient Pistol , Fortune
is painted blind , with a muffler afore her eyes , to
signify to you that Fortune is blind ; and she is
painted also with a wheel to signify to you , which is
the moral of it , that she is turning and inconstant ,
and mutability and variation ; and her foot , look you ,
is fixed upon a spherical stone , which rolls and rolls
and rolls . In good truth , the poet makes a most
excellent description of it . Fortune is an excellent
moral .

Henry V

Certainly , aunchient , it is not a thing to
rejoice at , for if , look you , he were my brother , I
would desire the Duke to use his good pleasure and
put him to execution , for discipline ought to be
used .

Henry V

Ay , so please your Majesty . The Duke of
Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge .
The French is gone off , look you , and there is gallant
and most prave passages . Marry , th’ athversary was
have possession of the pridge , but he is enforced
to retire , and the Duke of Exeter is master of the
pridge . I can tell your Majesty , the Duke is a prave
man .

Henry V

Thus says my king : Say thou to Harry of
England , though we seemed dead , we did but sleep .
Advantage is a better soldier than rashness . Tell him
we could have rebuked him at Harfleur , but that we
thought not good to bruise an injury till it were full
ripe . Now we speak upon our cue , and our voice is
imperial . England shall repent his folly , see his
weakness , and admire our sufferance . Bid him
therefore consider of his ransom , which must proportion
the losses we have borne , the subjects we
have lost , the disgrace we have digested , which , in
weight to reanswer , his pettiness would bow under .
For our losses , his exchequer is too poor ; for th’
effusion of our blood , the muster of his kingdom
too faint a number ; and for our disgrace , his own
person kneeling at our feet but a weak and worthless
satisfaction . To this , add defiance , and tell him ,
for conclusion , he hath betrayed his followers ,
whose condemnation is pronounced . So far my
king and master ; so much my office .

Henry V


Thou dost thy office fairly . Turn thee back ,
And tell thy king I do not seek him now
But could be willing to march on to Calais
Without impeachment , for , to say the sooth ,
Though ’tis no wisdom to confess so much
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage ,
My people are with sickness much enfeebled ,
My numbers lessened , and those few I have
Almost no better than so many French ,
Who when they were in health , I tell thee , herald ,
I thought upon one pair of English legs
Did march three Frenchmen . Yet forgive me , God ,
That I do brag thus . This your air of France
Hath blown that vice in me . I must repent .
Go therefore , tell thy master : here I am .
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk ,
My army but a weak and sickly guard ,
Yet , God before , tell him we will come on
Though France himself and such another neighbor
Stand in our way . There’s for thy labor , Montjoy .

Go bid thy master well advise himself :
If we may pass , we will ; if we be hindered ,
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolor . And so , Montjoy , fare you well .
The sum of all our answer is but this :
We would not seek a battle as we are ,
Nor , as we are , we say we will not shun it .
So tell your master .

Henry V


Now entertain conjecture of a time
When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe .
From camp to camp , through the foul womb of
night ,
The hum of either army stilly sounds ,
That the fixed sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other’s watch .
Fire answers fire , and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other’s umbered face ;
Steed threatens steed in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night’s dull ear ; and from the tents
The armorers , accomplishing the knights ,
With busy hammers closing rivets up ,
Give dreadful note of preparation .
The country cocks do crow , the clocks do toll ,
And , the third hour of drowsy morning named ,
Proud of their numbers and secure in soul ,
The confident and overlusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice
And chide the cripple , tardy-gaited night ,
Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp
So tediously away . The poor condemnèd English ,
Like sacrifices , by their watchful fires
Sit patiently and inly ruminate
The morning’s danger ; and their gesture sad ,
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats ,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts . O now , who will behold
The royal captain of this ruined band
Walking from watch to watch , from tent to tent ,
Let him cry , Praise and glory on his head !
For forth he goes and visits all his host ,
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile ,
And calls them brothers , friends , and countrymen .
Upon his royal face there is no note
How dread an army hath enrounded him ,
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color
Unto the weary and all-watchèd night ,
But freshly looks and overbears attaint
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty ,
That every wretch , pining and pale before ,
Beholding him , plucks comfort from his looks .
A largesse universal , like the sun ,
His liberal eye doth give to everyone ,
Thawing cold fear , that mean and gentle all
Behold , as may unworthiness define ,
A little touch of Harry in the night .
And so our scene must to the battle fly ,
Where , O for pity , we shall much disgrace ,
With four or five most vile and ragged foils
Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous ,
The name of Agincourt . Yet sit and see ,
Minding true things by what their mock’ries be .

Henry V

If the enemy is an ass and a fool and a prating
coxcomb , is it meet , think you , that we should also ,
look you , be an ass and a fool and a prating
coxcomb , in your own conscience now ?

Henry V

Even as men wracked upon a sand , that
look to be washed off the next tide .

Henry V

But if the cause be not good , the King
himself hath a heavy reckoning to make , when all
those legs and arms and heads , chopped off in a
battle , shall join together at the latter day , and cry
all We died at such a place , some swearing , some
crying for a surgeon , some upon their wives left
poor behind them , some upon the debts they owe ,
some upon their children rawly left . I am afeard
there are few die well that die in a battle , for how
can they charitably dispose of anything when blood
is their argument ? Now , if these men do not die
well , it will be a black matter for the king that led
them to it , who to disobey were against all proportion
of subjection .

Henry V


O God of battles , steel my soldiers’ hearts .
Possess them not with fear . Take from them now
The sense of reck’ning or th’ opposèd numbers
Pluck their hearts from them . Not today , O Lord ,
O , not today , think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown .
I Richard’s body have interrèd new
And on it have bestowed more contrite tears
Than from it issued forcèd drops of blood .
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay
Who twice a day their withered hands hold up
Toward heaven to pardon blood . And I have built
Two chantries where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard’s soul . More will I do —
Though all that I can do is nothing worth ,
Since that my penitence comes after all ,
Imploring pardon .

Henry V


Mount them , and make incision in their hides ,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes
And dout them with superfluous courage . Ha !

Henry V


What , will you have them weep our horses’ blood ?
How shall we then behold their natural tears ?

Henry V


To horse , you gallant princes , straight to horse .
Do but behold yond poor and starvèd band ,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls ,
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men .
There is not work enough for all our hands ,
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked curtal ax a stain ,
That our French gallants shall today draw out
And sheathe for lack of sport . Let us but blow on
them ,
The vapor of our valor will o’erturn them .
’Tis positive against all exceptions , lords ,
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants ,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle , were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe ,
Though we upon this mountain’s basis by
Took stand for idle speculation ,
But that our honors must not . What’s to say ?
A very little little let us do ,
And all is done . Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket sonance and the note to mount ,
For our approach shall so much dare the field
That England shall couch down in fear and yield .

Henry V


Why do you stay so long , my lords of France ?
Yond island carrions , desperate of their bones ,
Ill-favoredly become the morning field .
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose ,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully .
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps .
The horsemen sit like fixèd candlesticks
With torch staves in their hand , and their poor jades
Lob down their heads , drooping the hides and hips ,
The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes ,
And in their pale dull mouths the gemeled bit
Lies foul with chawed grass , still and motionless .
And their executors , the knavish crows ,
Fly o’er them all , impatient for their hour .
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless , as it shows itself .

Henry V

What’s he that wishes so ?
My cousin Westmoreland ? No , my fair cousin .
If we are marked to die , we are enough
To do our country loss ; and if to live ,
The fewer men , the greater share of honor .
God’s will , I pray thee wish not one man more .
By Jove , I am not covetous for gold ,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear ;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires .
But if it be a sin to covet honor ,
I am the most offending soul alive .
No , ’faith , my coz , wish not a man from England .
God’s peace , I would not lose so great an honor
As one man more , methinks , would share from me ,
For the best hope I have . O , do not wish one more !
Rather proclaim it , Westmoreland , through my host ,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight ,
Let him depart . His passport shall be made ,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse .
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us .
This day is called the feast of Crispian .
He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand o’ tiptoe when this day is named
And rouse him at the name of Crispian .
He that shall see this day , and live old age ,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors
And say Tomorrow is Saint Crispian .
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars .
Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot ,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day . Then shall our names ,
Familiar in his mouth as household words ,
Harry the King , Bedford and Exeter ,
Warwick and Talbot , Salisbury and Gloucester ,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered .
This story shall the good man teach his son ,
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by ,
From this day to the ending of the world ,
But we in it shall be rememberèd —
We few , we happy few , we band of brothers ;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother ; be he ne’er so vile ,
This day shall gentle his condition ;
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here ,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day .

Henry V

Moy shall not serve . I will have forty moys , or
I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat in drops of
crimson blood .

Henry V

As I suck blood , I will some mercy show .
Follow me .

Henry V


Lives he , good uncle ? Thrice within this hour
I saw him down , thrice up again and fighting .
From helmet to the spur , all blood he was .

Henry V


In which array , brave soldier , doth he lie ,
Larding the plain , and by his bloody side ,
Yoke-fellow to his honor-owing wounds ,
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies .
Suffolk first died , and York , all haggled over ,
Comes to him where in gore he lay insteeped ,
And takes him by the beard , kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawn upon his face .
He cries aloud Tarry , my cousin Suffolk .
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven .
Tarry , sweet soul , for mine ; then fly abreast ,
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry .
Upon these words I came and cheered him up .
He smiled me in the face , raught me his hand ,
And with a feeble grip , says Dear my lord ,
Commend my service to my sovereign .
So did he turn , and over Suffolk’s neck
He threw his wounded arm and kissed his lips ,
And so , espoused to death , with blood he sealed
A testament of noble-ending love .
The pretty and sweet manner of it forced
Those waters from me which I would have stopped ,
But I had not so much of man in me ,
And all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears .

Henry V

I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is
porn . I tell you , captain , if you look in the maps of
the ’orld , I warrant you sall find , in the comparisons
between Macedon and Monmouth , that the
situations , look you , is both alike . There is a river in
Macedon , and there is also , moreover , a river at
Monmouth . It is called Wye at Monmouth , but it is
out of my prains what is the name of the other river .
But ’tis all one ; ’tis alike as my fingers is to my
fingers , and there is salmons in both . If you mark
Alexander’s life well , Harry of Monmouth’s life is
come after it indifferent well , for there is figures in
all things . Alexander , God knows and you know , in
his rages and his furies and his wraths and his
cholers and his moods and his displeasures and his
indignations , and also being a little intoxicates in
his prains , did , in his ales and his angers , look you ,
kill his best friend , Cleitus .

Henry V

No , great king .
I come to thee for charitable license ,
That we may wander o’er this bloody field
To book our dead and then to bury them ,
To sort our nobles from our common men ,
For many of our princes — woe the while ! —
Lie drowned and soaked in mercenary blood .
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes , and the wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore , and with wild rage
Yerk out their armèd heels at their dead masters ,
Killing them twice . O , give us leave , great king ,
To view the field in safety and dispose
Of their dead bodies .

Henry V

All the water in Wye cannot wash your
Majesty’s Welsh plood out of your pody , I can tell
you that . God pless it and preserve it as long as it
pleases his Grace and his Majesty too .

Henry V

Though he be as good a gentleman as the
devil is , as Lucifer and Beelzebub himself , it is
necessary , look your Grace , that he keep his vow
and his oath . If he be perjured , see you now , his
reputation is as arrant a villain and a Jack Sauce as
ever his black shoe trod upon God’s ground and His
earth , in my conscience , la .

Henry V

’Sblood , an arrant traitor as any ’s in the
universal world , or in France , or in England !

Henry V

My Lord of Warwick , here is , praised be
God for it , a most contagious treason come to
light , look you , as you shall desire in a summer’s
day .



Here is his Majesty .

Henry V

My liege , here is a villain and a traitor , that ,
look your Grace , has struck the glove which your
Majesty is take out of the helmet of Alençon .

Henry V

Give me thy glove , soldier .
Look , here is the fellow of it .
’Twas I indeed thou promised’st to strike ,
And thou hast given me most bitter terms .

Henry V


This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
That in the field lie slain . Of princes in this number
And nobles bearing banners , there lie dead
One hundred twenty-six . Added to these ,
Of knights , esquires , and gallant gentlemen ,
Eight thousand and four hundred , of the which
Five hundred were but yesterday dubbed knights .
So that in these ten thousand they have lost ,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries .
The rest are princes , barons , lords , knights , squires ,
And gentlemen of blood and quality .
The names of those their nobles that lie dead :
Charles Delabreth , High Constable of France ;
Jacques of Chatillon , Admiral of France ;
The Master of the Crossbows , Lord Rambures ;
Great Master of France , the brave Sir Guichard
Dauphin ;
John , Duke of Alençon ; Anthony , Duke of Brabant ,
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy ;
And Edward , Duke of Bar . Of lusty earls :
Grandpré and Roussi , Faulconbridge and Foix ,
Beaumont and Marle , Vaudemont and Lestrale .
Here was a royal fellowship of death .
Where is the number of our English dead ?

Edward the Duke of York , the Earl of Suffolk ,
Sir Richard Ketly , Davy Gam , esquire ;
None else of name , and of all other men
But five and twenty . O God , thy arm was here ,
And not to us , but to thy arm alone
Ascribe we all ! When , without stratagem ,
But in plain shock and even play of battle ,
Was ever known so great and little loss
On one part and on th’ other ? Take it , God ,
For it is none but thine .

Henry V


Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story
That I may prompt them ; and of such as have ,
I humbly pray them to admit th’ excuse
Of time , of numbers , and due course of things ,
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented . Now we bear the King
Toward Calais . Grant him there . There seen ,
Heave him away upon your wingèd thoughts
Athwart the sea . Behold , the English beach
Pales in the flood with men , wives , and boys ,
Whose shouts and claps outvoice the deep-mouthed
sea ,
Which , like a mighty whiffler ’fore the King
Seems to prepare his way . So let him land ,
And solemnly see him set on to London .
So swift a pace hath thought that even now
You may imagine him upon Blackheath ,
Where that his lords desire him to have borne
His bruisèd helmet and his bended sword
Before him through the city . He forbids it ,
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride ,
Giving full trophy , signal , and ostent
Quite from himself , to God . But now behold ,
In the quick forge and workinghouse of thought ,
How London doth pour out her citizens .
The Mayor and all his brethren in best sort ,
Like to the senators of th’ antique Rome ,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels ,
Go forth and fetch their conqu’ring Caesar in —
As , by a lower but by loving likelihood
Were now the general of our gracious empress ,
As in good time he may , from Ireland coming ,
Bringing rebellion broachèd on his sword ,
How many would the peaceful city quit
To welcome him ! Much more , and much more
cause ,
Did they this Harry . Now in London place him
( As yet the lamentation of the French
Invites the King of England’s stay at home ;
The Emperor’s coming in behalf of France
To order peace between them ) and omit
All the occurrences , whatever chanced ,
Till Harry’s back return again to France .
There must we bring him , and myself have played
The interim , by remembering you ’tis past .
Then brook abridgment , and your eyes advance
After your thoughts , straight back again to France .

Henry V

There is occasions and causes why and
wherefore in all things . I will tell you ass my
friend , Captain Gower . The rascally , scald , beggarly ,
lousy , pragging knave Pistol , which you and
yourself and all the world know to be no petter than
a fellow , look you now , of no merits , he is come to
me and prings me pread and salt yesterday , look
you , and bid me eat my leek . It was in a place where
I could not breed no contention with him , but I will
be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once
again , and then I will tell him a little piece of my
desires .

Henry V

I peseech you heartily , scurvy , lousy knave ,
at my desires and my requests and my petitions , to
eat , look you , this leek . Because , look you , you do
not love it , nor your affections and your appetites
and your disgestions does not agree with it , I would
desire you to eat it .

Henry V

I say I will make him eat some part of my
leek , or I will peat his pate four days . — Bite , I pray
you . It is good for your green wound and your
ploody coxcomb .

Henry V


So happy be the issue , brother Ireland ,
Of this good day and of this gracious meeting ,
As we are now glad to behold your eyes —
Your eyes which hitherto have borne in them
Against the French that met them in their bent
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks .
The venom of such looks , we fairly hope ,
Have lost their quality , and that this day
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love .

Henry V


My duty to you both , on equal love ,
Great kings of France and England . That I have
labored
With all my wits , my pains , and strong endeavors
To bring your most imperial Majesties
Unto this bar and royal interview ,
Your Mightiness on both parts best can witness .
Since , then , my office hath so far prevailed
That face to face and royal eye to eye
You have congreeted , let it not disgrace me
If I demand before this royal view
What rub or what impediment there is
Why that the naked , poor , and mangled peace ,
Dear nurse of arts , plenties , and joyful births ,
Should not in this best garden of the world ,
Our fertile France , put up her lovely visage ?
Alas , she hath from France too long been chased ,
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps ,
Corrupting in its own fertility .
Her vine , the merry cheerer of the heart ,
Unprunèd , dies . Her hedges , even-pleached ,
Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair ,
Put forth disordered twigs . Her fallow leas
The darnel , hemlock , and rank fumitory
Doth root upon , while that the coulter rusts
That should deracinate such savagery .
The even mead , that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip , burnet , and green clover ,
Wanting the scythe , withal uncorrected , rank ,
Conceives by idleness , and nothing teems
But hateful docks , rough thistles , kecksies , burrs ,
Losing both beauty and utility .
And all our vineyards , fallows , meads , and hedges ,
Defective in their natures , grow to wildness .
Even so our houses and ourselves and children
Have lost , or do not learn for want of time ,
The sciences that should become our country ,
But grow like savages , as soldiers will
That nothing do but meditate on blood ,
To swearing and stern looks , diffused attire ,
And everything that seems unnatural .
Which to reduce into our former favor
You are assembled , and my speech entreats
That I may know the let why gentle peace
Should not expel these inconveniences
And bless us with her former qualities .

Henry V

Marry , if you would put me to verses or
to dance for your sake , Kate , why you undid me .
For the one , I have neither words nor measure ; and
for the other , I have no strength in measure , yet a
reasonable measure in strength . If I could win a
lady at leapfrog or by vaulting into my saddle with
my armor on my back , under the correction of
bragging be it spoken , I should quickly leap into a
wife . Or if I might buffet for my love , or bound my
horse for her favors , I could lay on like a butcher
and sit like a jackanapes , never off . But , before God ,
Kate , I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence ,
nor I have no cunning in protestation , only
downright oaths , which I never use till urged , nor
never break for urging . If thou canst love a fellow of
this temper , Kate , whose face is not worth sun-burning ,
that never looks in his glass for love of
anything he sees there , let thine eye be thy cook . I
speak to thee plain soldier . If thou canst love me for
this , take me . If not , to say to thee that I shall die is
true , but for thy love , by the Lord , no . Yet I love thee
too . And while thou liv’st , dear Kate , take a fellow of
plain and uncoined constancy , for he perforce must
do thee right because he hath not the gift to woo in
other places . For these fellows of infinite tongue ,
that can rhyme themselves into ladies’ favors , they
do always reason themselves out again . What ? A
speaker is but a prater , a rhyme is but a ballad , a
good leg will fall , a straight back will stoop , a black
beard will turn white , a curled pate will grow bald ,
a fair face will wither , a full eye will wax hollow , but
a good heart , Kate , is the sun and the moon , or
rather the sun and not the moon , for it shines bright
and never changes but keeps his course truly . If
thou would have such a one , take me . And take me ,
take a soldier . Take a soldier , take a king . And what
say’st thou then to my love ? Speak , my fair , and
fairly , I pray thee .

Henry V

Now fie upon my false French . By mine
honor , in true English , I love thee , Kate . By which
honor I dare not swear thou lovest me , yet my blood
begins to flatter me that thou dost , notwithstanding
the poor and untempering effect of my visage . Now
beshrew my father’s ambition ! He was thinking of
civil wars when he got me ; therefore was I created
with a stubborn outside , with an aspect of iron , that
when I come to woo ladies , I fright them . But , in
faith , Kate , the elder I wax , the better I shall appear .
My comfort is that old age , that ill layer-up of
beauty , can do no more spoil upon my face . Thou
hast me , if thou hast me , at the worst , and thou shalt
wear me , if thou wear me , better and better . And
therefore tell me , most fair Katherine , will you have
me ? Put off your maiden blushes , avouch the
thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress ,
take me by the hand , and say Harry of England , I
am thine , which word thou shalt no sooner bless
mine ear withal , but I will tell thee aloud England
is thine , Ireland is thine , France is thine , and Henry
Plantagenet is thine , who , though I speak it before
his face , if he be not fellow with the best king , thou
shalt find the best king of good fellows . Come , your
answer in broken music , for thy voice is music , and
thy English broken . Therefore , queen of all , Katherine ,
break thy mind to me in broken English . Wilt
thou have me ?

Henry V

I will wink on her to consent , my lord , if
you will teach her to know my meaning , for maids
well summered and warm kept are like flies at
Bartholomew-tide : blind , though they have their
eyes ; and then they will endure handling , which
before would not abide looking on .

Henry V


Take her , fair son , and from her blood raise up
Issue to me , that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England , whose very shores look pale
With envy of each other’s happiness ,
May cease their hatred , and this dear conjunction
Plant neighborhood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms , that never war advance
His bleeding sword ’twixt England and fair France .

Henry VIII


Well , we shall then know more , and Buckingham
Shall lessen this big look .

Henry VIII


This butcher’s cur is venomed-mouthed , and I
Have not the power to muzzle him ; therefore best
Not wake him in his slumber . A beggar’s book
Outworths a noble’s blood .

Henry VIII

I read in ’s looks
Matter against me , and his eye reviled
Me as his abject object . At this instant
He bores me with some trick . He’s gone to th’ King .
I’ll follow and outstare him .

Henry VIII

I am sorry
To see you ta’en from liberty , to look on
The business present . ’Tis his Highness’ pleasure
You shall to th’ Tower .

Henry VIII

Things done well ,
And with a care , exempt themselves from fear ;
Things done without example , in their issue
Are to be feared . Have you a precedent
Of this commission ? I believe , not any .
We must not rend our subjects from our laws
And stick them in our will . Sixth part of each ?
A trembling contribution ! Why , we take
From every tree lop , bark , and part o’ th’ timber ,
And though we leave it with a root , thus hacked ,
The air will drink the sap . To every county
Where this is questioned send our letters with
Free pardon to each man that has denied
The force of this commission . Pray look to ’t ;
I put it to your care .

Henry VIII


Look out there , some of you .

Henry VIII

All good people ,
You that thus far have come to pity me ,
Hear what I say , and then go home and lose me .
I have this day received a traitor’s judgment ,
And by that name must die . Yet heaven bear witness ,
And if I have a conscience , let it sink me
Even as the ax falls , if I be not faithful !
The law I bear no malice for my death ;
’T has done , upon the premises , but justice .
But those that sought it I could wish more Christian .
Be what they will , I heartily forgive ’em .
Yet let ’em look they glory not in mischief ,
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ,
For then my guiltless blood must cry against ’em .
For further life in this world I ne’er hope ,
Nor will I sue , although the King have mercies
More than I dare make faults . You few that loved me
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham ,
His noble friends and fellows , whom to leave
Is only bitter to him , only dying ,
Go with me like good angels to my end ,
And as the long divorce of steel falls on me ,
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice ,
And lift my soul to heaven . — Lead on , a’ God’s name .

Henry VIII

Nay , Sir Nicholas ,
Let it alone . My state now will but mock me .
When I came hither , I was Lord High Constable
And Duke of Buckingham ; now , poor Edward Bohun .
Yet I am richer than my base accusers ,
That never knew what truth meant . I now seal it ,
And with that blood will make ’em one day groan for ’t .
My noble father , Henry of Buckingham ,
Who first raised head against usurping Richard ,
Flying for succor to his servant Banister ,
Being distressed , was by that wretch betrayed ,
And , without trial , fell . God’s peace be with him .
Henry the Seventh , succeeding , truly pitying
My father’s loss , like a most royal prince
Restored me to my honors and out of ruins
Made my name once more noble . Now his son ,
Henry the Eighth , life , honor , name , and all
That made me happy at one stroke has taken
Forever from the world . I had my trial ,
And must needs say a noble one , which makes me
A little happier than my wretched father .
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes : both
Fell by our servants , by those men we loved most —
A most unnatural and faithless service .
Heaven has an end in all ; yet , you that hear me ,
This from a dying man receive as certain :
Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels
Be sure you be not loose ; for those you make friends
And give your hearts to , when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes , fall away
Like water from you , never found again
But where they mean to sink you . All good people ,
Pray for me . I must now forsake you . The last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me .
Farewell . And when you would say something that
is sad ,
Speak how I fell . I have done ; and God forgive me .

Henry VIII


Heaven keep me from such counsel ! ’Tis most true :
These news are everywhere , every tongue speaks ’em ,
And every true heart weeps for ’t . All that dare
Look into these affairs see this main end ,
The French king’s sister . Heaven will one day open
The King’s eyes , that so long have slept upon
This bold bad man .

Henry VIII


How sad he looks ! Sure he is much afflicted .

Henry VIII


Your Grace has given a precedent of wisdom
Above all princes in committing freely
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom .
Who can be angry now ? What envy reach you ?
The Spaniard , tied by blood and favor to her ,
Must now confess , if they have any goodness ,
The trial just and noble ; all the clerks —
I mean the learnèd ones in Christian kingdoms —
Have their free voices ; Rome , the nurse of judgment ,
Invited by your noble self , hath sent
One general tongue unto us , this good man ,
This just and learnèd priest , Cardinal Campeius ,
Whom once more I present unto your Highness .

Henry VIII

Good lady ,
Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy ,
And leave me out on ’t . Would I had no being
If this salute my blood a jot . It faints me
To think what follows .
The Queen is comfortless and we forgetful
In our long absence . Pray do not deliver
What here you’ve heard to her .

Henry VIII

Most gracious sir ,
In humblest manner I require your Highness
That it shall please you to declare in hearing
Of all these ears — for where I am robbed and bound ,
There must I be unloosed , although not there
At once and fully satisfied — whether ever I
Did broach this business to your Highness , or
Laid any scruple in your way which might
Induce you to the question on ’t , or ever
Have to you , but with thanks to God for such
A royal lady , spake one the least word that might
Be to the prejudice of her present state ,
Or touch of her good person ?

Henry VIII

To betray me . —
My lords , I thank you both for your good wills .
You speak like honest men ; pray God you prove so .
But how to make you suddenly an answer
In such a point of weight , so near mine honor —
More near my life , I fear — with my weak wit ,
And to such men of gravity and learning ,
In truth I know not . I was set at work
Among my maids , full little , God knows , looking
Either for such men or such business .
For her sake that I have been — for I feel
The last fit of my greatness — good your Graces ,
Let me have time and counsel for my cause .
Alas , I am a woman friendless , hopeless .

Henry VIII


Looked he o’ th’ inside of the paper ?

Henry VIII

My lord , we have
Stood here observing him . Some strange commotion
Is in his brain . He bites his lip , and starts ,
Stops on a sudden , looks upon the ground ,
Then lays his finger on his temple , straight
Springs out into fast gait , then stops again ,
Strikes his breast hard , and anon he casts
His eye against the moon . In most strange postures
We have seen him set himself .

Henry VIII

I do profess
That for your Highness’ good I ever labored
More than mine own , that am , have , and will be —
Though all the world should crack their duty to you
And throw it from their soul , though perils did
Abound as thick as thought could make ’em , and
Appear in forms more horrid — yet my duty ,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood ,
Should the approach of this wild river break ,
And stand unshaken yours .

Henry VIII

What should this mean ?
What sudden anger’s this ? How have I reaped it ?
He parted frowning from me , as if ruin
Leaped from his eyes . So looks the chafèd lion
Upon the daring huntsman that has galled him ,
Then makes him nothing . I must read this paper —
I fear , the story of his anger .

’Tis so .
This paper has undone me . ’Tis th’ accompt
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together
For mine own ends — indeed , to gain the popedom
And fee my friends in Rome . O negligence ,
Fit for a fool to fall by ! What cross devil
Made me put this main secret in the packet
I sent the King ? Is there no way to cure this ?
No new device to beat this from his brains ?
I know ’twill stir him strongly ; yet I know
A way , if it take right , in spite of fortune
Will bring me off again .
What’s this ? To th’ Pope ?
The letter , as I live , with all the business
I writ to ’s Holiness . Nay then , farewell !
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness ,
And from that full meridian of my glory
I haste now to my setting . I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening
And no man see me more .

Henry VIII

By my soul ,
Your long coat , priest , protects you ; thou shouldst feel
My sword i’ th’ life blood of thee else . — My lords ,
Can you endure to hear this arrogance ?
And from this fellow ? If we live thus tamely ,
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet ,
Farewell , nobility . Let his Grace go forward
And dare us with his cap , like larks .

Henry VIII

Heaven bless thee !
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever looked on . —
Sir , as I have a soul , she is an angel .
Our king has all the Indies in his arms ,
And more , and richer , when he strains that lady .
I cannot blame his conscience .

Henry VIII


As well as I am able . The rich stream
Of lords and ladies , having brought the Queen
To a prepared place in the choir , fell off
A distance from her , while her Grace sat down
To rest awhile , some half an hour or so ,
In a rich chair of state , opposing freely
The beauty of her person to the people .
Believe me , sir , she is the goodliest woman
That ever lay by man , which when the people
Had the full view of , such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest —
As loud and to as many tunes . Hats , cloaks ,
Doublets , I think , flew up , and had their faces
Been loose , this day they had been lost . Such joy
I never saw before . Great-bellied women
That had not half a week to go , like rams
In the old time of war , would shake the press
And make ’em reel before ’em . No man living
Could say This is my wife there , all were woven
So strangely in one piece .

Henry VIII

Do you note
How much her Grace is altered on the sudden ?
How long her face is drawn ? How pale she looks ,
And of an earthy cold ? Mark her eyes .

Henry VIII

Stand up , good Canterbury !
Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted
In us , thy friend . Give me thy hand . Stand up .

Prithee , let’s walk . Now by my halidom ,
What manner of man are you ? My lord , I looked
You would have given me your petition that
I should have ta’en some pains to bring together
Yourself and your accusers and to have heard you
Without endurance further .

Henry VIII

Be of good cheer .
They shall no more prevail than we give way to .
Keep comfort to you , and this morning see
You do appear before them . If they shall chance ,
In charging you with matters , to commit you ,
The best persuasions to the contrary
Fail not to use , and with what vehemency
Th’ occasion shall instruct you . If entreaties
Will render you no remedy , this ring
Deliver them , and your appeal to us
There make before them .
Look , the good man weeps !
He’s honest , on mine honor ! God’s blest mother ,
I swear he is truehearted , and a soul
None better in my kingdom . — Get you gone ,
And do as I have bid you .
He has strangled
His language in his tears .

Henry VIII

Now by thy looks
I guess thy message . Is the Queen delivered ?
Say Ay , and of a boy .

Henry VIII

Stay , good my lords ,
I have a little yet to say . Look there , my lords .

By virtue of that ring , I take my cause
Out of the grips of cruel men and give it
To a most noble judge , the King my master .

Henry VIII


You were ever good at sudden commendations ,
Bishop of Winchester . But know I come not
To hear such flattery now , and in my presence
They are too thin and base to hide offenses .
To me you cannot reach . You play the spaniel ,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me ;
But whatsoe’er thou tak’st me for , I’m sure
Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody . —
Good man , sit down .
Now let me see the proudest
He , that dares most , but wag his finger at thee .
By all that’s holy , he had better starve
Than but once think this place becomes thee not .

Henry VIII

Belong to th’ gallows and be hanged , you rogue !
Is this a place to roar in ? — Fetch me a dozen crab-tree
staves , and strong ones . These are but switches
to ’em . — I’ll scratch your heads ! You must be seeing
christenings ? Do you look for ale and cakes here ,
you rude rascals ?

Henry VIII

The spoons will be the bigger , sir . There is
a fellow somewhat near the door — he should be a
brazier by his face , for , o’ my conscience , twenty of
the dog days now reign in ’s nose . All that stand
about him are under the line ; they need no other
penance . That fire-drake did I hit three times on the
head , and three times was his nose discharged
against me . He stands there like a mortar-piece , to
blow us . There was a haberdasher’s wife of small
wit near him that railed upon me till her pinked
porringer fell off her head for kindling such a
combustion in the state . I missed the meteor once
and hit that woman , who cried out Clubs ! when I
might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to
her succor , which were the hope o’ th’ Strand , where
she was quartered . They fell on ; I made good my
place . At length they came to th’ broomstaff to me ;
I defied ’em still , when suddenly a file of boys behind
’em , loose shot , delivered such a shower of
pibbles that I was fain to draw mine honor in and
let ’em win the work . The devil was amongst ’em , I
think , surely .

Henry VIII

Let me speak , sir ,
For heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery , for they’ll find ’em truth .
This royal infant — heaven still move about her ! —
Though in her cradle , yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings ,
Which time shall bring to ripeness . She shall be —
But few now living can behold that goodness —
A pattern to all princes living with her
And all that shall succeed . Saba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
Than this pure soul shall be . All princely graces
That mold up such a mighty piece as this is ,
With all the virtues that attend the good ,
Shall still be doubled on her . Truth shall nurse her ;
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her .
She shall be loved and feared . Her own shall bless her ;
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn
And hang their heads with sorrow . Good grows with
her .
In her days every man shall eat in safety
Under his own vine what he plants and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors .
God shall be truly known , and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honor
And by those claim their greatness , not by blood .
Nor shall this peace sleep with her ; but , as when
The bird of wonder dies , the maiden phoenix ,
Her ashes new create another heir
As great in admiration as herself ,
So shall she leave her blessedness to one ,
When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness ,
Who from the sacred ashes of her honor
Shall starlike rise as great in fame as she was
And so stand fixed . Peace , plenty , love , truth , terror ,
That were the servants to this chosen infant ,
Shall then be his , and like a vine grow to him .
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine ,
His honor and the greatness of his name
Shall be , and make new nations . He shall flourish ,
And like a mountain cedar reach his branches
To all the plains about him . Our children’s children
Shall see this and bless heaven .

Henry VI, Part 1


We mourn in black ; why mourn we not in blood ?
Henry is dead and never shall revive .
Upon a wooden coffin we attend ,
And Death’s dishonorable victory
We with our stately presence glorify ,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car .
What ? Shall we curse the planets of mishap
That plotted thus our glory’s overthrow ?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
Conjurers and sorcerers , that , afraid of him ,
By magic verses have contrived his end ?

Henry VI, Part 1


Gloucester , whate’er we like , thou art Protector
And lookest to command the Prince and realm .
Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe
More than God or religious churchmen may .

Henry VI, Part 1


O no , wherein Lord Talbot was o’erthrown .
The circumstance I’ll tell you more at large .
The tenth of August last , this dreadful lord ,
Retiring from the siege of Orleance ,
Having full scarce six thousand in his troop ,
By three and twenty thousand of the French
Was round encompassèd and set upon .
No leisure had he to enrank his men .
He wanted pikes to set before his archers ,
Instead whereof , sharp stakes plucked out of hedges
They pitchèd in the ground confusedly
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in .
More than three hours the fight continuèd ,
Where valiant Talbot , above human thought ,
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance .
Hundreds he sent to hell , and none durst stand him ;
Here , there , and everywhere , enraged , he slew .
The French exclaimed the devil was in arms ;
All the whole army stood agazed on him .
His soldiers , spying his undaunted spirit ,
À Talbot ! À Talbot ! cried out amain
And rushed into the bowels of the battle .
Here had the conquest fully been sealed up
If Sir John Fastolf had not played the coward .
He , being in the vaward , placed behind
With purpose to relieve and follow them ,
Cowardly fled , not having struck one stroke .
Hence grew the general wrack and massacre .
Enclosèd were they with their enemies .
A base Walloon , to win the Dauphin’s grace ,
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back ,
Whom all France , with their chief assembled
strength ,
Durst not presume to look once in the face .

Henry VI, Part 1


His ransom there is none but I shall pay .
I’ll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne ;
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend .
Four of their lords I’ll change for one of ours .
Farewell , my masters ; to my task will I .
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make ,
To keep our great Saint George’s feast withal .
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take ,
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake .

Henry VI, Part 1


They want their porridge and their fat bull beeves .
Either they must be dieted like mules
And have their provender tied to their mouths ,
Or piteous they will look , like drownèd mice .

Henry VI, Part 1


Methinks your looks are sad , your cheer appalled .
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ?
Be not dismayed , for succor is at hand .
A holy maid hither with me I bring ,
Which , by a vision sent to her from heaven ,
Ordainèd is to raise this tedious siege
And drive the English forth the bounds of France .
The spirit of deep prophecy she hath ,
Exceeding the nine Sibyls of old Rome .
What’s past and what’s to come she can descry .
Speak , shall I call her in ? Believe my words ,
For they are certain and unfallible .

Henry VI, Part 1


Go call her in .
But first , to try her skill ,
Reignier , stand thou as Dauphin in my place ;
Question her proudly ; let thy looks be stern .
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath .

Henry VI, Part 1


Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall .

Henry VI, Part 1


Gloucester , we’ll meet to thy cost , be sure .
Thy heartblood I will have for this day’s work .

Henry VI, Part 1


I grieve to hear what torments you endured ,
But we will be revenged sufficiently .
Now it is supper time in Orleance .
Here , through this grate , I count each one
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify .
Let us look in ; the sight will much delight thee .
Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale ,
Let me have your express opinions
Where is best place to make our batt’ry next ?

Henry VI, Part 1


What chance is this that suddenly hath crossed us ? —
Speak , Salisbury — at least if thou canst , speak !
How far’st thou , mirror of all martial men ?
One of thy eyes and thy cheek’s side struck off ! —
Accursèd tower , accursèd fatal hand
That hath contrived this woeful tragedy !
In thirteen battles Salisbury o’ercame ;
Henry the Fifth he first trained to the wars .
Whilst any trump did sound or drum struck up ,
His sword did ne’er leave striking in the field . —
Yet liv’st thou , Salisbury ? Though thy speech doth fail ,
One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace .
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world .
Heaven , be thou gracious to none alive
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! —
Sir Thomas Gargrave , hast thou any life ?
Speak unto Talbot . Nay , look up to him . —
Bear hence his body ; I will help to bury it .

Salisbury , cheer thy spirit with this comfort ,
Thou shalt not die whiles —
He beckons with his hand and smiles on me
As who should say When I am dead and gone ,
Remember to avenge me on the French .
Plantagenet , I will ; and , like thee , Nero ,
Play on the lute , beholding the towns burn .
Wretched shall France be only in my name .

What stir is this ? What tumult’s in the heavens ?
Whence cometh this alarum and the noise ?

Henry VI, Part 1


Where is my strength , my valor , and my force ?
Our English troops retire ; I cannot stay them .
A woman clad in armor chaseth them .



Here , here she comes ! — I’ll have a bout with thee .
Devil or devil’s dam , I’ll conjure thee .
Blood will I draw on thee — thou art a witch —
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv’st .

Henry VI, Part 1


Divinest creature , Astraea’s daughter ,
How shall I honor thee for this success ?
Thy promises are like Adonis’ garden
That one day bloomed and fruitful were the next .
France , triumph in thy glorious prophetess .
Recovered is the town of Orleance .
More blessèd hap did ne’er befall our state .

Henry VI, Part 1


Lord Regent , and redoubted Burgundy ,
By whose approach the regions of Artois ,
Walloon , and Picardy are friends to us ,
This happy night the Frenchmen are secure ,
Having all day caroused and banqueted .
Embrace we then this opportunity ,
As fitting best to quittance their deceit
Contrived by art and baleful sorcery .

Henry VI, Part 1


Duke of Alanson , this was your default ,
That , being captain of the watch tonight ,
Did look no better to that weighty charge .

Henry VI, Part 1


Bring forth the body of old Salisbury ,
And here advance it in the marketplace ,
The middle center of this cursèd town .



Now have I paid my vow unto his soul :
For every drop of blood was drawn from him
There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight .
And , that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happened in revenge of him ,
Within their chiefest temple I’ll erect
A tomb wherein his corpse shall be interred ,
Upon the which , that everyone may read ,
Shall be engraved the sack of Orleance ,
The treacherous manner of his mournful death ,
And what a terror he had been to France .

But , lords , in all our bloody massacre ,
I muse we met not with the Dauphin’s grace ,
His new-come champion , virtuous Joan of Arc ,
Nor any of his false confederates .

Henry VI, Part 1

To me , bloodthirsty lord .
And for that cause I trained thee to my house .
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me ,
For in my gallery thy picture hangs .
But now the substance shall endure the like ,
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine ,
That hast by tyranny these many years
Wasted our country , slain our citizens ,
And sent our sons and husbands captivate .

Henry VI, Part 1


Here in my scabbard , meditating that
Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red .

Henry VI, Part 1


Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses ,
For pale they look with fear , as witnessing
The truth on our side .

Henry VI, Part 1


By Him that made me , I’ll maintain my words
On any plot of ground in Christendom .
Was not thy father Richard , Earl of Cambridge ,
For treason executed in our late king’s days ?
And , by his treason , stand’st not thou attainted ,
Corrupted , and exempt from ancient gentry ?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ,
And , till thou be restored , thou art a yeoman .

Henry VI, Part 1


My father was attachèd , not attainted ,
Condemned to die for treason , but no traitor ;
And that I’ll prove on better men than Somerset ,
Were growing time once ripened to my will .
For your partaker Pole and you yourself ,
I’ll note you in my book of memory
To scourge you for this apprehension .
Look to it well , and say you are well warned .

Henry VI, Part 1


And , by my soul , this pale and angry rose ,
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate ,
Will I forever , and my faction , wear
Until it wither with me to my grave
Or flourish to the height of my degree .

Henry VI, Part 1

Thanks , gentle sir .
Come , let us four to dinner . I dare say
This quarrel will drink blood another day .

Henry VI, Part 1


Thy grave admonishments prevail with me .
But yet methinks my father’s execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny .

Henry VI, Part 1


And peace , no war , befall thy parting soul .
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage ,
And like a hermit overpassed thy days . —
Well , I will lock his counsel in my breast ,
And what I do imagine , let that rest . —
Keepers , convey him hence , and I myself
Will see his burial better than his life .

Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer ,
Choked with ambition of the meaner sort .
And for those wrongs , those bitter injuries ,
Which Somerset hath offered to my house ,
I doubt not but with honor to redress .
And therefore haste I to the Parliament ,
Either to be restorèd to my blood ,
Or make mine ill th’ advantage of my good .

Henry VI, Part 1


Yield , my Lord Protector — yield , Winchester —
Except you mean with obstinate repulse
To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm .
You see what mischief , and what murder too ,
Hath been enacted through your enmity .
Then be at peace , except you thirst for blood .

Henry VI, Part 1


Behold , my Lord of Winchester , the Duke
Hath banished moody discontented fury ,
As by his smoothèd brows it doth appear .
Why look you still so stern and tragical ?

Henry VI, Part 1


And those occasions , uncle , were of force . —
Therefore , my loving lords , our pleasure is
That Richard be restorèd to his blood .

Henry VI, Part 1


Let Richard be restorèd to his blood ;
So shall his father’s wrongs be recompensed .

Henry VI, Part 1


Away , captains . Let’s get us from the walls ,
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks . —
Goodbye , my lord . We came but to tell you
That we are here .

Henry VI, Part 1


Look on thy country , look on fertile France ,
And see the cities and the towns defaced
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe .
As looks the mother on her lowly babe
When death doth close his tender-dying eyes ,
See , see the pining malady of France :
Behold the wounds , the most unnatural wounds ,
Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast .
O , turn thy edgèd sword another way ;
Strike those that hurt , and hurt not those that help .
One drop of blood drawn from thy country’s bosom
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore .
Return thee therefore with a flood of tears ,
And wash away thy country’s stainèd spots .

Henry VI, Part 1


Villain , thou knowest the law of arms is such
That whoso draws a sword ’tis present death ,
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood .
But I’ll unto his Majesty , and crave
I may have liberty to venge this wrong ,
When thou shalt see I’ll meet thee to thy cost .

Henry VI, Part 1


When first this Order was ordained , my lords ,
Knights of the Garter were of noble birth ,
Valiant and virtuous , full of haughty courage ,
Such as were grown to credit by the wars ;
Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress ,
But always resolute in most extremes .
He then that is not furnished in this sort
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight ,
Profaning this most honorable Order ,
And should , if I were worthy to be judge ,
Be quite degraded , like a hedge-born swain
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood .

Henry VI, Part 1


Come hither , you that would be combatants :
Henceforth I charge you , as you love our favor ,
Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause . —
And you , my lords , remember where we are :
In France , amongst a fickle wavering nation .
If they perceive dissension in our looks ,
And that within ourselves we disagree ,
How will their grudging stomachs be provoked
To willful disobedience and rebel !
Besides , what infamy will there arise
When foreign princes shall be certified
That for a toy , a thing of no regard ,
King Henry’s peers and chief nobility
Destroyed themselves and lost the realm of France !
O , think upon the conquest of my father ,
My tender years , and let us not forgo
That for a trifle that was bought with blood .
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife .
I see no reason if I wear this rose
That anyone should therefore be suspicious
I more incline to Somerset than York .

Both are my kinsmen , and I love them both .
As well they may upbraid me with my crown
Because , forsooth , the King of Scots is crowned .
But your discretions better can persuade
Than I am able to instruct or teach ;
And therefore , as we hither came in peace ,
So let us still continue peace and love .
Cousin of York , we institute your Grace
To be our regent in these parts of France ; —
And good my Lord of Somerset , unite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot ;
And like true subjects , sons of your progenitors ,
Go cheerfully together and digest
Your angry choler on your enemies .
Ourself , my lord protector , and the rest ,
After some respite , will return to Callice ;
From thence to England , where I hope ere long
To be presented , by your victories ,
With Charles , Alanson , and that traitorous rout .

Henry VI, Part 1


Go to the gates of Bordeaux , trumpeter .
Summon their general unto the wall .



English John Talbot , captains , calls you forth ,
Servant-in-arms to Harry , King of England ,
And thus he would : open your city gates ,
Be humble to us , call my sovereign yours ,
And do him homage as obedient subjects ,
And I’ll withdraw me and my bloody power .
But if you frown upon this proffered peace ,
You tempt the fury of my three attendants ,
Lean Famine , quartering Steel , and climbing Fire ,
Who , in a moment , even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers ,
If you forsake the offer of their love .

Henry VI, Part 1


Thou ominous and fearful owl of death ,
Our nation’s terror and their bloody scourge ,
The period of thy tyranny approacheth .
On us thou canst not enter but by death ;
For I protest we are well fortified
And strong enough to issue out and fight .
If thou retire , the Dauphin , well appointed ,
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee .
On either hand thee , there are squadrons pitched
To wall thee from the liberty of flight ;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress
But Death doth front thee with apparent spoil ,
And pale Destruction meets thee in the face .
Ten thousand French have ta’en the Sacrament
To rive their dangerous artillery
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot .
Lo , there thou stand’st , a breathing valiant man
Of an invincible unconquered spirit .
This is the latest glory of thy praise
That I , thy enemy , due thee withal ;
For ere the glass that now begins to run
Finish the process of his sandy hour ,
These eyes , that see thee now well-colorèd ,
Shall see thee withered , bloody , pale , and dead .

Hark , hark , the Dauphin’s drum , a warning bell ,
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul ,
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out .

Henry VI, Part 1


He fables not ; I hear the enemy .
Out , some light horsemen , and peruse their wings .

O , negligent and heedless discipline ,
How are we parked and bounded in a pale ,
A little herd of England’s timorous deer
Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs .
If we be English deer , be then in blood ,
Not rascal-like to fall down with a pinch ,
But rather , moody-mad and desperate stags ,
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay .
Sell every man his life as dear as mine
And they shall find dear deer of us , my friends .
God and Saint George , Talbot and England’s right ,
Prosper our colors in this dangerous fight !

Henry VI, Part 1


Whither , my lord ? From bought and sold Lord Talbot ,
Who , ringed about with bold adversity ,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset
To beat assailing Death from his weak regions ;
And whiles the honorable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs
And , in advantage ling’ring , looks for rescue ,
You , his false hopes , the trust of England’s honor ,
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation .
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succors that should lend him aid ,
While he , renownèd noble gentleman ,
Yield up his life unto a world of odds .
Orleance the Bastard , Charles , Burgundy ,
Alanson , Reignier compass him about ,
And Talbot perisheth by your default .

Henry VI, Part 1


Is my name Talbot ? And am I your son ?
And shall I fly ? O , if you love my mother ,
Dishonor not her honorable name
To make a bastard and a slave of me !
The world will say He is not Talbot’s blood ,
That basely fled when noble Talbot stood .

Henry VI, Part 1


When from the Dauphin’s crest thy sword struck fire ,
It warmed thy father’s heart with proud desire
Of bold-faced victory . Then leaden age ,
Quickened with youthful spleen and warlike rage ,
Beat down Alanson , Orleance , Burgundy ,
And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee .
The ireful Bastard Orleance , that drew blood
From thee , my boy , and had the maidenhood
Of thy first fight , I soon encounterèd ,
And , interchanging blows , I quickly shed
Some of his bastard blood , and in disgrace
Bespoke him thus : Contaminated , base ,
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine ,
Mean and right poor , for that pure blood of mine
Which thou didst force from Talbot , my brave boy .
Here , purposing the Bastard to destroy ,
Came in strong rescue . Speak , thy father’s care :
Art thou not weary , John ? How dost thou fare ?
Wilt thou yet leave the battle , boy , and fly ,
Now thou art sealed the son of chivalry ?
Fly , to revenge my death when I am dead ;
The help of one stands me in little stead .
O , too much folly is it , well I wot ,
To hazard all our lives in one small boat .
If I today die not with Frenchmen’s rage ,
Tomorrow I shall die with mickle age .
By me they nothing gain , and , if I stay ,
’Tis but the short’ning of my life one day .
In thee thy mother dies , our household’s name ,
My death’s revenge , thy youth , and England’s fame .
All these and more we hazard by thy stay ;
All these are saved if thou wilt fly away .

Henry VI, Part 1


The sword of Orleance hath not made me smart ;
These words of yours draw lifeblood from my heart .
On that advantage , bought with such a shame ,
To save a paltry life and slay bright fame ,
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly ,
The coward horse that bears me fall and die !
And like me to the peasant boys of France ,
To be shame’s scorn and subject of mischance !
Surely , by all the glory you have won ,
An if I fly , I am not Talbot’s son .
Then talk no more of flight , it is no boot ;
If son to Talbot , die at Talbot’s foot .

Henry VI, Part 1


Where is my other life ? Mine own is gone .
O , where’s young Talbot ? Where is valiant John ?
Triumphant Death , smeared with captivity ,
Young Talbot’s valor makes me smile at thee .
When he perceived me shrink and on my knee ,
His bloody sword he brandished over me ,
And like a hungry lion did commence
Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience ;
But when my angry guardant stood alone ,
Tend’ring my ruin and assailed of none ,
Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clust’ring battle of the French ;
And in that sea of blood , my boy did drench
His over-mounting spirit ; and there died
My Icarus , my blossom , in his pride .

Henry VI, Part 1


Had York and Somerset brought rescue in ,
We should have found a bloody day of this .

Henry VI, Part 1


How the young whelp of Talbot’s , raging wood ,
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen’s blood !

Henry VI, Part 1


Doubtless he would have made a noble knight .
See where he lies inhearsèd in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms .

Henry VI, Part 1


So we be rid of them , do with him what thou wilt .

And now to Paris in this conquering vein .
All will be ours , now bloody Talbot’s slain .

Henry VI, Part 1


Well , my good lord , and as the only means
To stop effusion of our Christian blood
And stablish quietness on every side .

Henry VI, Part 1


Ay , marry , uncle , for I always thought
It was both impious and unnatural
That such immanity and bloody strife
Should reign among professors of one faith .

Henry VI, Part 1


The Regent conquers and the Frenchmen fly .
Now help , you charming spells and periapts ,
And you choice spirits that admonish me ,
And give me signs of future accidents .
You speedy helpers , that are substitutes
Under the lordly monarch of the north ,
Appear , and aid me in this enterprise .



This speed and quick appearance argues proof
Of your accustomed diligence to me .
Now , you familiar spirits that are culled
Out of the powerful regions under earth ,
Help me this once , that France may get the field .

O , hold me not with silence overlong !
Where I was wont to feed you with my blood ,
I’ll lop a member off and give it you
In earnest of a further benefit ,
So you do condescend to help me now .

No hope to have redress ? My body shall
Pay recompense if you will grant my suit .

Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice
Entreat you to your wonted furtherance ?
Then take my soul — my body , soul , and all —
Before that England give the French the foil .

See , they forsake me . Now the time is come
That France must vail her lofty-plumèd crest
And let her head fall into England’s lap .
My ancient incantations are too weak ,
And hell too strong for me to buckle with .
Now , France , thy glory droopeth to the dust .

Henry VI, Part 1


A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee ,
And may you both be suddenly surprised
By bloody hands in sleeping on your beds !

Henry VI, Part 1


Decrepit miser , base ignoble wretch !
I am descended of a gentler blood .
Thou art no father nor no friend of mine .

Henry VI, Part 1


First , let me tell you whom you have condemned :
Not one begotten of a shepherd swain ,
But issued from the progeny of kings ,
Virtuous and holy , chosen from above
By inspiration of celestial grace
To work exceeding miracles on earth .
I never had to do with wicked spirits .
But you , that are polluted with your lusts ,
Stained with the guiltless blood of innocents ,
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices ,
Because you want the grace that others have ,
You judge it straight a thing impossible
To compass wonders but by help of devils .
No , misconceivèd ! Joan of Arc hath been
A virgin from her tender infancy ,
Chaste and immaculate in very thought ,
Whose maiden blood , thus rigorously effused ,
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven .

Henry VI, Part 1


Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts ?
Then , Joan , discover thine infirmity ,
That warranteth by law to be thy privilege :
I am with child , you bloody homicides .
Murder not then the fruit within my womb ,
Although you hale me to a violent death .

Henry VI, Part 1


Then lead me hence , with whom I leave my curse :
May never glorious sun reflex his beams
Upon the country where you make abode ,
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you , till mischief and despair
Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves .

Henry VI, Part 1


Insulting Charles , hast thou by secret means
Used intercession to obtain a league
And , now the matter grows to compromise ,
Stand’st thou aloof upon comparison ?
Either accept the title thou usurp’st ,
Of benefit proceeding from our king
And not of any challenge of desert ,
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars .

Henry VI, Part 2


For grief that they are past recovery ;
For , were there hope to conquer them again ,
My sword should shed hot blood , mine eyes no
tears .
Anjou and Maine ? Myself did win them both !
Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer .
And are the cities that I got with wounds
Delivered up again with peaceful words ?
Mort Dieu !

Henry VI, Part 2


So , there goes our Protector in a rage .
’Tis known to you he is mine enemy ,
Nay , more , an enemy unto you all ,
And no great friend , I fear me , to the King .
Consider , lords , he is the next of blood
And heir apparent to the English crown .
Had Henry got an empire by his marriage ,
And all the wealthy kingdoms of the West ,
There’s reason he should be displeased at it .
Look to it , lords . Let not his smoothing words
Bewitch your hearts ; be wise and circumspect .
What though the common people favor him ,
Calling him Humphrey , the good Duke of
Gloucester ,
Clapping their hands and crying with loud voice
Jesu maintain your royal Excellence !
With God preserve the good Duke Humphrey !
I fear me , lords , for all this flattering gloss ,
He will be found a dangerous Protector .

Henry VI, Part 2


Then let’s make haste away and look unto the main .

Henry VI, Part 2


Anjou and Maine are given to the French ;
Paris is lost ; the state of Normandy
Stands on a tickle point now they are gone .
Suffolk concluded on the articles ,
The peers agreed , and Henry was well pleased
To change two dukedoms for a duke’s fair daughter .
I cannot blame them all . What is ’t to them ?
’Tis thine they give away , and not their own .
Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their
pillage ,
And purchase friends , and give to courtesans ,
Still reveling like lords till all be gone ;
Whileas the silly owner of the goods
Weeps over them , and wrings his hapless hands ,
And shakes his head , and trembling stands aloof ,
While all is shared and all is borne away ,
Ready to starve , and dare not touch his own .
So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue
While his own lands are bargained for and sold .
Methinks the realms of England , France , and
Ireland
Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood
As did the fatal brand Althaea burnt
Unto the Prince’s heart of Calydon .
Anjou and Maine both given unto the French !
Cold news for me , for I had hope of France ,
Even as I have of fertile England’s soil .
A day will come when York shall claim his own ;
And therefore I will take the Nevilles’ parts
And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey ,
And , when I spy advantage , claim the crown ,
For that’s the golden mark I seek to hit .
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right ,
Nor hold the scepter in his childish fist ,
Nor wear the diadem upon his head ,
Whose churchlike humors fits not for a crown .
Then , York , be still awhile till time do serve .
Watch thou and wake , when others be asleep ,
To pry into the secrets of the state
Till Henry , surfeiting in joys of love
With his new bride and England’s dear-bought
queen ,
And Humphrey with the peers be fall’n at jars .
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose ,
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed ,
And in my standard bear the arms of York ,
To grapple with the house of Lancaster ;
And force perforce I’ll make him yield the crown ,
Whose bookish rule hath pulled fair England down .

Henry VI, Part 2


Yes , my good lord . I’ll follow presently .

Follow I must ; I cannot go before
While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind .
Were I a man , a duke , and next of blood ,
I would remove these tedious stumbling blocks
And smooth my way upon their headless necks ;
And , being a woman , I will not be slack
To play my part in Fortune’s pageant . —
Where are you there ? Sir John ! Nay , fear not , man .
We are alone ; here’s none but thee and I .

Henry VI, Part 2


Against her will , good king ? Look to ’t in time .
She’ll hamper thee and dandle thee like a baby .
Though in this place most master wear no breeches ,
She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged .

Henry VI, Part 2

Red , master , red as blood .

Henry VI, Part 2


Gloucester , see here the tainture of thy nest ,
And look thyself be faultless , thou wert best .

Henry VI, Part 2


Well , for this night we will repose us here .
Tomorrow toward London back again ,
To look into this business thoroughly ,
And call these foul offenders to their answers ,
And poise the cause in Justice’ equal scales ,
Whose beam stands sure , whose rightful cause
prevails .

Henry VI, Part 2


We thank you , lords . But I am not your
king
Till I be crowned , and that my sword be stained
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster ;
And that’s not suddenly to be performed ,
But with advice and silent secrecy .
Do you as I do in these dangerous days :
Wink at the Duke of Suffolk’s insolence ,
At Beaufort’s pride , at Somerset’s ambition ,
At Buckingham , and all the crew of them ,
Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock ,
That virtuous prince , the good Duke Humphrey .
’Tis that they seek ; and they , in seeking that ,
Shall find their deaths , if York can prophesy .

Henry VI, Part 2


Ten is the hour that was appointed me
To watch the coming of my punished duchess .
Uneath may she endure the flinty streets ,
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet .
Sweet Nell , ill can thy noble mind abrook
The abject people gazing on thy face
With envious looks laughing at thy shame ,
That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets .
But , soft ! I think she comes , and I’ll prepare
My tearstained eyes to see her miseries .

Henry VI, Part 2


Come you , my lord , to see my open shame ?
Now thou dost penance too . Look how they gaze !
See how the giddy multitude do point ,
And nod their heads , and throw their eyes on thee .
Ah , Gloucester , hide thee from their hateful looks ,
And , in thy closet pent up , rue my shame ,
And ban thine enemies , both mine and thine .

Henry VI, Part 2


Ah , Gloucester , teach me to forget myself !
For whilst I think I am thy married wife
And thou a prince , Protector of this land ,
Methinks I should not thus be led along ,
Mailed up in shame , with papers on my back ,
And followed with a rabble that rejoice
To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans .
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet ,
And when I start , the envious people laugh
And bid me be advisèd how I tread .
Ah , Humphrey , can I bear this shameful yoke ?
Trowest thou that e’er I’ll look upon the world
Or count them happy that enjoys the sun ?
No , dark shall be my light , and night my day .
To think upon my pomp shall be my hell .
Sometimes I’ll say I am Duke Humphrey’s wife
And he a prince and ruler of the land ;
Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was
As he stood by whilst I , his forlorn duchess ,
Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock
To every idle rascal follower .
But be thou mild , and blush not at my shame ,
Nor stir at nothing till the ax of death
Hang over thee , as , sure , it shortly will .
For Suffolk , he that can do all in all
With her that hateth thee and hates us all ,
And York and impious Beaufort , that false priest ,
Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings ;
And fly thou how thou canst , they’ll tangle thee .
But fear not thou until thy foot be snared ,
Nor never seek prevention of thy foes .

Henry VI, Part 2


Can you not see , or will you not observe ,
The strangeness of his altered countenance ?
With what a majesty he bears himself ,
How insolent of late he is become ,
How proud , how peremptory , and unlike himself ?
We know the time since he was mild and affable ;
And if we did but glance a far-off look ,
Immediately he was upon his knee ,
That all the court admired him for submission .
But meet him now , and , be it in the morn
When everyone will give the time of day ,
He knits his brow and shows an angry eye
And passeth by with stiff unbowèd knee ,
Disdaining duty that to us belongs .
Small curs are not regarded when they grin ,
But great men tremble when the lion roars —
And Humphrey is no little man in England .
First , note that he is near you in descent ,
And , should you fall , he is the next will mount .
Meseemeth then it is no policy ,
Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears
And his advantage following your decease ,
That he should come about your royal person
Or be admitted to your Highness’ Council .
By flattery hath he won the Commons’ hearts ;
And when he please to make commotion ,
’Tis to be feared they all will follow him .
Now ’tis the spring , and weeds are shallow-rooted ;
Suffer them now , and they’ll o’ergrow the garden
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry .
The reverent care I bear unto my lord
Made me collect these dangers in the Duke .
If it be fond , call it a woman’s fear ,
Which fear , if better reasons can supplant ,
I will subscribe and say I wronged the Duke .
My lords of Suffolk , Buckingham , and York ,
Reprove my allegation if you can ,
Or else conclude my words effectual .

Henry VI, Part 2


Why , ’tis well known that whiles I was Protector ,
Pity was all the fault that was in me ;
For I should melt at an offender’s tears ,
And lowly words were ransom for their fault .
Unless it were a bloody murderer
Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers ,
I never gave them condign punishment .
Murder indeed , that bloody sin , I tortured
Above the felon or what trespass else .

Henry VI, Part 2


Ay , Margaret . My heart is drowned with grief ,
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes ,
My body round engirt with misery ;
For what’s more miserable than discontent ?
Ah , uncle Humphrey , in thy face I see
The map of honor , truth , and loyalty ;
And yet , good Humphrey , is the hour to come
That e’er I proved thee false or feared thy faith .
What louring star now envies thy estate
That these great lords and Margaret our queen
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life ?
Thou never didst them wrong nor no man wrong .
And as the butcher takes away the calf
And binds the wretch and beats it when it strains ,
Bearing it to the bloody slaughterhouse ,
Even so remorseless have they borne him hence ;
And as the dam runs lowing up and down ,
Looking the way her harmless young one went ,
And can do naught but wail her darling’s loss ,
Even so myself bewails good Gloucester’s case
With sad unhelpful tears , and with dimmed eyes
Look after him and cannot do him good ,
So mighty are his vowèd enemies .
His fortunes I will weep and , ’twixt each groan ,
Say Who’s a traitor , Gloucester he is none .

Henry VI, Part 2


Madam , ’tis true ; and were ’t not madness then
To make the fox surveyor of the fold —
Who , being accused a crafty murderer ,
His guilt should be but idly posted over
Because his purpose is not executed ?
No , let him die in that he is a fox ,
By nature proved an enemy to the flock ,
Before his chaps be stained with crimson blood ,
As Humphrey , proved by reasons , to my liege .
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him —
Be it by gins , by snares , by subtlety ,
Sleeping or waking . ’Tis no matter how ,
So he be dead ; for that is good deceit
Which mates him first that first intends deceit .

Henry VI, Part 2


My lord of York , try what your fortune is .
Th’ uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen .
To Ireland will you lead a band of men ,
Collected choicely , from each county some ,
And try your hap against the Irishmen ?

Henry VI, Part 2


Now , York , or never , steel thy fearful thoughts
And change misdoubt to resolution .
Be that thou hop’st to be , or what thou art
Resign to death ; it is not worth th’ enjoying .
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man
And find no harbor in a royal heart .
Faster than springtime showers comes thought on
thought ,
And not a thought but thinks on dignity .
My brain , more busy than the laboring spider ,
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies .
Well , nobles , well , ’tis politicly done
To send me packing with an host of men .
I fear me you but warm the starvèd snake ,
Who , cherished in your breasts , will sting your
hearts .
’Twas men I lacked , and you will give them me ;
I take it kindly . Yet be well assured
You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands .
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band ,
I will stir up in England some black storm
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell ;
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
Until the golden circuit on my head ,
Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams ,
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw .
And for a minister of my intent ,
I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman ,
John Cade of Ashford ,
To make commotion , as full well he can ,
Under the title of John Mortimer .
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns ,
And fought so long till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quilled porpentine ;
And in the end being rescued , I have seen
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco ,
Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells .
Full often , like a shag-haired crafty kern ,
Hath he conversèd with the enemy ,
And undiscovered come to me again
And given me notice of their villainies .
This devil here shall be my substitute ;
For that John Mortimer , which now is dead ,
In face , in gait , in speech he doth resemble .
By this , I shall perceive the Commons’ mind ,
How they affect the house and claim of York .
Say he be taken , racked , and torturèd ,
I know no pain they can inflict upon him
Will make him say I moved him to those arms .
Say that he thrive , as ’tis great like he will ,
Why then from Ireland come I with my strength
And reap the harvest which that rascal sowed .
For , Humphrey being dead , as he shall be ,
And Henry put apart , the next for me .

Henry VI, Part 2


I thank thee , Meg . These words content me much .



How now ? Why look’st thou pale ? Why tremblest
thou ?
Where is our uncle ? What’s the matter , Suffolk ?

Henry VI, Part 2


What , doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me ?
Came he right now to sing a raven’s note ,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers ,
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren ,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast ,
Can chase away the first-conceivèd sound ?
Hide not thy poison with such sugared words .
Lay not thy hands on me . Forbear , I say !
Their touch affrights me as a serpent’s sting .
Thou baleful messenger , out of my sight !
Upon thy eyeballs , murderous Tyranny
Sits in grim majesty to fright the world .
Look not upon me , for thine eyes are wounding .
Yet do not go away . Come , basilisk ,
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight ;
For in the shade of death I shall find joy ,
In life but double death , now Gloucester’s dead .

Henry VI, Part 2


Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus ?
Although the Duke was enemy to him ,
Yet he most Christian-like laments his death .
And for myself , foe as he was to me ,
Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life ,
I would be blind with weeping , sick with groans ,
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs ,
And all to have the noble duke alive .
What know I how the world may deem of me ?
For it is known we were but hollow friends .
It may be judged I made the Duke away ;
So shall my name with slander’s tongue be wounded
And princes’ courts be filled with my reproach .
This get I by his death . Ay me , unhappy ,
To be a queen and crowned with infamy !

Henry VI, Part 2


Be woe for me , more wretched than he is .
What , dost thou turn away and hide thy face ?
I am no loathsome leper . Look on me .
What , art thou , like the adder , waxen deaf ?
Be poisonous too , and kill thy forlorn queen .
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester’s tomb ?
Why , then , Dame Margaret was ne’er thy joy .
Erect his statue and worship it ,
And make my image but an alehouse sign .
Was I for this nigh-wracked upon the sea
And twice by awkward wind from England’s bank
Drove back again unto my native clime ?
What boded this , but well forewarning wind
Did seem to say Seek not a scorpion’s nest ,
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore ?
What did I then but cursed the gentle gusts
And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves
And bid them blow towards England’s blessèd shore
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock ?
Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer ,
But left that hateful office unto thee .
The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me ,
Knowing that thou wouldst have me drowned on
shore
With tears as salt as sea , through thy unkindness .
The splitting rocks cow’red in the sinking sands
And would not dash me with their ragged sides
Because thy flinty heart , more hard than they ,
Might in thy palace perish Margaret .
As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs ,
When from thy shore the tempest beat us back ,
I stood upon the hatches in the storm ,
And when the dusky sky began to rob
My earnest-gaping sight of thy land’s view ,
I took a costly jewel from my neck —
A heart it was , bound in with diamonds —
And threw it towards thy land . The sea received it ,
And so I wished thy body might my heart .
And even with this I lost fair England’s view ,
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart ,
And called them blind and dusky spectacles
For losing ken of Albion’s wishèd coast .
How often have I tempted Suffolk’s tongue ,
The agent of thy foul inconstancy ,
To sit and watch me , as Ascanius did
When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father’s acts commenced in burning Troy !
Am I not witched like her , or thou not false like
him ?
Ay me , I can no more . Die , Margaret ,
For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long .

Henry VI, Part 2


See how the blood is settled in his face .
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost ,
Of ashy semblance , meager , pale , and bloodless ,
Being all descended to the laboring heart ,
Who , in the conflict that it holds with death ,
Attracts the same for aidance ’gainst the enemy ,
Which with the heart there cools and ne’er
returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again .
But see , his face is black and full of blood ;
His eyeballs further out than when he lived ,
Staring full ghastly , like a strangled man ;
His hair upreared , his nostrils stretched with
struggling ;
His hands abroad displayed , as one that grasped
And tugged for life and was by strength subdued .
Look , on the sheets his hair , you see , is sticking ;
His well-proportioned beard made rough and
rugged ,
Like to the summer’s corn by tempest lodged .
It cannot be but he was murdered here .
The least of all these signs were probable .

Henry VI, Part 2


Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh ,
And sees fast by a butcher with an ax ,
But will suspect ’twas he that made the slaughter ?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock’s nest
But may imagine how the bird was dead ,
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak ?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy .

Henry VI, Part 2


But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee
And I should rob the deathsman of his fee ,
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames ,
And that my sovereign’s presence makes me mild ,
I would , false murd’rous coward , on thy knee
Make thee beg pardon for thy passèd speech
And say it was thy mother that thou meant’st ,
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy ;
And after all this fearful homage done ,
Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell ,
Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men !

Henry VI, Part 2


Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood ,
If from this presence thou dar’st go with me .

Henry VI, Part 2


Bring me unto my trial when you will .
Died he not in his bed ? Where should he die ?
Can I make men live , whe’er they will or no ?
O , torture me no more ! I will confess .
Alive again ? Then show me where he is .
I’ll give a thousand pound to look upon him .
He hath no eyes ! The dust hath blinded them .
Comb down his hair . Look , look . It stands upright ,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my wingèd soul .
Give me some drink , and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him .

Henry VI, Part 2


O , Thou eternal mover of the heavens ,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch !
O , beat away the busy meddling fiend
That lays strong siege unto this wretch’s soul ,
And from his bosom purge this black despair !

Henry VI, Part 2


The gaudy , blabbing , and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea ,
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
That drag the tragic melancholy night ,
Who , with their drowsy , slow , and flagging wings
Clip dead men’s graves , and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air .
Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize ;
For , whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs ,
Here shall they make their ransom on the sand ,
Or with their blood stain this discolored shore . —
Master , this prisoner freely give I thee . —
And , thou that art his mate , make boot of this . —
The other , Walter Whitmore , is thy share .

Henry VI, Part 2


Look on my George ; I am a gentleman .
Rate me at what thou wilt , thou shalt be paid .

Henry VI, Part 2


Thy name affrights me , in whose sound is death .
A cunning man did calculate my birth
And told me that by water I should die .
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded ;
Thy name is Gualtier , being rightly sounded .

Henry VI, Part 2


Obscure and lousy swain , King Henry’s blood ,
The honorable blood of Lancaster ,
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom .
Hast thou not kissed thy hand and held my stirrup ?
Bareheaded plodded by my footcloth mule ,
And thought thee happy when I shook my head ?
How often hast thou waited at my cup ,
Fed from my trencher , kneeled down at the board ,
When I have feasted with Queen Margaret ?
Remember it , and let it make thee crestfall’n ,
Ay , and allay this thy abortive pride .
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood
And duly waited for my coming forth ?
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf ,
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue .

Henry VI, Part 2


O , that I were a god , to shoot forth thunder
Upon these paltry , servile , abject drudges !
Small things make base men proud . This villain
here ,
Being captain of a pinnace , threatens more
Than Bargulus , the strong Illyrian pirate .
Drones suck not eagles’ blood , but rob beehives .
It is impossible that I should die
By such a lowly vassal as thyself .
Thy words move rage and not remorse in me .
I go of message from the Queen to France .
I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel .

Henry VI, Part 2


Suffolk’s imperial tongue is stern and rough ,
Used to command , untaught to plead for favor .
Far be it we should honor such as these
With humble suit . No , rather let my head
Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any
Save to the God of heaven and to my king ;
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole
Than stand uncovered to the vulgar groom .
True nobility is exempt from fear . —
More can I bear than you dare execute .

Henry VI, Part 2


O , barbarous and bloody spectacle !
His body will I bear unto the King .
If he revenge it not , yet will his friends .
So will the Queen , that living held him dear .

Henry VI, Part 2


But angry , wrathful , and inclined to blood ,
If you go forward . Therefore yield , or die .

Henry VI, Part 2


Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind
And makes it fearful and degenerate .
Think therefore on revenge , and cease to weep .
But who can cease to weep and look on this ?
Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast ,
But where’s the body that I should embrace ?

Henry VI, Part 2


I’ll send some holy bishop to entreat ,
For God forbid so many simple souls
Should perish by the sword ! And I myself ,
Rather than bloody war shall cut them short ,
Will parley with Jack Cade , their general .
But stay , I’ll read it over once again .

Henry VI, Part 2


Tell me , wherein have I offended most ?
Have I affected wealth or honor ? Speak .
Are my chests filled up with extorted gold ?
Is my apparel sumptuous to behold ?
Whom have I injured , that you seek my death ?
These hands are free from guiltless blood-shedding ,
This breast from harboring foul deceitful thoughts .
O , let me live !

Henry VI, Part 2

Brave thee ? Ay , by the best blood that ever was
broached , and beard thee too . Look on me well : I
have eat no meat these five days , yet come thou
and thy five men , and if I do not leave you all as
dead as a doornail , I pray God I may never eat
grass more .

Henry VI, Part 2


Nay , it shall ne’er be said , while England stands ,
That Alexander Iden , an esquire of Kent ,
Took odds to combat a poor famished man .
Oppose thy steadfast gazing eyes to mine ;
See if thou canst outface me with thy looks .
Set limb to limb , and thou art far the lesser ;
Thy hand is but a finger to my fist ,
Thy leg a stick comparèd with this truncheon .
My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast ;
And if mine arm be heavèd in the air ,
Thy grave is digged already in the earth .
As for words , whose greatness answers words ,
Let this my sword report what speech forbears .

Henry VI, Part 2


Is ’t Cade that I have slain , that monstrous traitor ?
Sword , I will hallow thee for this thy deed ,
And hang thee o’er my tomb when I am dead .
Ne’er shall this blood be wipèd from thy point ,
But thou shalt wear it as a herald’s coat
To emblaze the honor that thy master got .

Henry VI, Part 2


How now ? Is Somerset at liberty ?
Then , York , unloose thy long-imprisoned thoughts ,
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart .
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ? —
False king , why hast thou broken faith with me ,
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse ?
King did I call thee ? No , thou art not king ,
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes ,
Which dar’st not — no , nor canst not — rule a traitor .
That head of thine doth not become a crown ;
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer’s staff ,
And not to grace an awful princely scepter .
That gold must round engirt these brows of mine ,
Whose smile and frown , like to Achilles’ spear ,
Is able with the change to kill and cure .
Here is a hand to hold a scepter up
And with the same to act controlling laws .
Give place . By heaven , thou shalt rule no more
O’er him whom heaven created for thy ruler .

Henry VI, Part 2


O , blood-bespotted Neapolitan ,
Outcast of Naples , England’s bloody scourge !
The sons of York , thy betters in their birth ,
Shall be their father’s bail , and bane to those
That for my surety will refuse the boys .


See where they come ; I’ll warrant they’ll make it
good .

Henry VI, Part 2


I thank thee , Clifford . Say , what news with thee ?
Nay , do not fright us with an angry look .
We are thy sovereign , Clifford ; kneel again .
For thy mistaking so , we pardon thee .

Henry VI, Part 2


Look in a glass , and call thy image so .
I am thy king and thou a false-heart traitor .
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears ,
That , with the very shaking of their chains ,
They may astonish these fell-lurking curs .
Bid Salisbury and Warwick come
to me .

Henry VI, Part 2


Why , Warwick , hath thy knee forgot to bow ? —
Old Salisbury , shame to thy silver hair ,
Thou mad misleader of thy brainsick son !
What , wilt thou on thy deathbed play the ruffian
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ?
O , where is faith ? O , where is loyalty ?
If it be banished from the frosty head ,
Where shall it find a harbor in the earth ?
Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war ,
And shame thine honorable age with blood ?
Why art thou old and want’st experience ?
Or wherefore dost abuse it , if thou hast it ?
For shame ! In duty bend thy knee to me
That bows unto the grave with mickle age .

Henry VI, Part 2

My noble father ,
Three times today I holp him to his horse ,
Three times bestrid him . Thrice I led him off ,
Persuaded him from any further act ;
But still , where danger was , still there I met him ,
And , like rich hangings in a homely house ,
So was his will in his old feeble body .
But , noble as he is , look where he comes .



Now , by my sword , well hast thou fought today !

Henry VI, Part 3


Lord Stafford’s father , Duke of Buckingham ,
Is either slain or wounded dangerous .
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow .
That this is true , father , behold his blood .

Henry VI, Part 3


And , brother , here’s the Earl of Wiltshire’s blood ,
Whom I encountered as the battles joined .

Henry VI, Part 3


The Bloody Parliament shall this be called
Unless Plantagenet , Duke of York , be king
And bashful Henry deposed , whose cowardice
Hath made us bywords to our enemies .

Henry VI, Part 3


My lords , look where the sturdy rebel sits ,
Even in the chair of state ! Belike he means ,
Backed by the power of Warwick , that false peer ,
To aspire unto the crown and reign as king .
Earl of Northumberland , he slew thy father ,
And thine , Lord Clifford , and you both have vowed
revenge
On him , his sons , his favorites , and his friends .

Henry VI, Part 3


Plantagenet , of thee and these thy sons ,
Thy kinsmen , and thy friends , I’ll have more lives
Than drops of blood were in my father’s veins .

Henry VI, Part 3


Do right unto this princely Duke of York ,
Or I will fill the house with armèd men ,
And over the chair of state , where now he sits ,
Write up his title with usurping blood .

Henry VI, Part 3


Farewell , faint-hearted and degenerate king ,
In whose cold blood no spark of honor bides .

Henry VI, Part 3


Here comes the Queen , whose looks bewray her
anger .
I’ll steal away .

Henry VI, Part 3


Who can be patient in such extremes ?
Ah , wretched man , would I had died a maid
And never seen thee , never borne thee son ,
Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father .
Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus ?
Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I ,
Or felt that pain which I did for him once ,
Or nourished him as I did with my blood ,
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood
there ,
Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir
And disinherited thine only son .

Henry VI, Part 3


An oath is of no moment , being not took
Before a true and lawful magistrate
That hath authority over him that swears .
Henry had none , but did usurp the place .
Then , seeing ’twas he that made you to depose ,
Your oath , my lord , is vain and frivolous .
Therefore , to arms ! And , father , do but think
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ,
Within whose circuit is Elysium
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy .
Why do we linger thus ? I cannot rest
Until the white rose that I wear be dyed
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry’s heart .

Henry VI, Part 3


Ah , whither shall I fly to scape their hands ?



Ah , tutor , look where bloody Clifford comes .

Henry VI, Part 3


So looks the pent-up lion o’er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws ;
And so he walks , insulting o’er his prey ;
And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder .
Ah , gentle Clifford , kill me with thy sword
And not with such a cruel threat’ning look .
Sweet Clifford , hear me speak before I die .
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath .
Be thou revenged on men , and let me live .

Henry VI, Part 3


In vain thou speak’st , poor boy . My father’s blood
Hath stopped the passage where thy words should
enter .

Henry VI, Part 3


Then let my father’s blood open it again ;
He is a man and , Clifford , cope with him .

Henry VI, Part 3


Plantagenet , I come , Plantagenet !
And this thy son’s blood , cleaving to my blade ,
Shall rust upon my weapon till thy blood ,
Congealed with this , do make me wipe off both .

Henry VI, Part 3


The army of the Queen hath got the field .
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back and fly like ships before the wind ,
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starvèd wolves .
My sons , God knows what hath bechancèd them ;
But this I know : they have demeaned themselves
Like men borne to renown by life or death .
Three times did Richard make a lane to me
And thrice cried Courage , father , fight it out !
And full as oft came Edward to my side ,
With purple falchion painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encountered him ;
And when the hardiest warriors did retire ,
Richard cried Charge , and give no foot of ground !
And cried A crown or else a glorious tomb ;
A scepter or an earthly sepulcher !
With this we charged again ; but , out alas ,
We budged again , as I have seen a swan
With bootless labor swim against the tide
And spend her strength with over-matching waves .

Ah , hark , the fatal followers do pursue ,
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury ;
And were I strong , I would not shun their fury .
The sands are numbered that makes up my life .
Here must I stay , and here my life must end .



Come , bloody Clifford , rough Northumberland ,
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage .
I am your butt , and I abide your shot .

Henry VI, Part 3


Brave warriors , Clifford and Northumberland ,
Come , make him stand upon this molehill here
That raught at mountains with outstretchèd arms ,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand .

What , was it you that would be England’s king ?
Was ’t you that reveled in our parliament
And made a preachment of your high descent ?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now ,
The wanton Edward and the lusty George ?
And where’s that valiant crookback prodigy ,
Dickie , your boy , that with his grumbling voice
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ?
Or , with the rest , where is your darling Rutland ?
Look , York , I stained this napkin with the blood
That valiant Clifford with his rapier’s point
Made issue from the bosom of the boy ;
And if thine eyes can water for his death ,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal .

Alas , poor York , but that I hate thee deadly
I should lament thy miserable state .
I prithee grieve to make me merry , York .
What , hath thy fiery heart so parched thine entrails
That not a tear can fall for Rutland’s death ?
Why art thou patient , man ? Thou shouldst be mad ;
And I , to make thee mad , do mock thee thus .
Stamp , rave , and fret , that I may sing and dance .
Thou would’st be fee’d , I see , to make me sport . —
York cannot speak unless he wear a crown .
A crown for York !
And , lords , bow low to him .
Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on .

Ay , marry , sir , now looks he like a king .
Ay , this is he that took King Henry’s chair ,
And this is he was his adopted heir .
But how is it that great Plantagenet
Is crowned so soon and broke his solemn oath ? —
As I bethink me , you should not be king
Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death .
And will you pale your head in Henry’s glory
And rob his temples of the diadem
Now , in his life , against your holy oath ?
O , ’tis a fault too too unpardonable .
Off with the crown and , with the crown , his head ;
And whilst we breathe , take time to do him dead .

Henry VI, Part 3


She-wolf of France , but worse than wolves of
France ,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth :
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex
To triumph like an Amazonian trull
Upon their woes whom Fortune captivates .
But that thy face is vizard-like , unchanging ,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds ,
I would assay , proud queen , to make thee blush .
To tell thee whence thou cam’st , of whom derived ,
Were shame enough to shame thee , wert thou not
shameless .
Thy father bears the type of King of Naples ,
Of both the Sicils , and Jerusalem ,
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman .
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult ?
It needs not , nor it boots thee not , proud queen ,
Unless the adage must be verified
That beggars mounted run their horse to death .
’Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud ,
But God He knows thy share thereof is small .
’Tis virtue that doth make them most admired ;
The contrary doth make thee wondered at .
’Tis government that makes them seem divine ;
The want thereof makes thee abominable .
Thou art as opposite to every good
As the Antipodes are unto us
Or as the south to the Septentrion .
O , tiger’s heart wrapped in a woman’s hide ,
How couldst thou drain the lifeblood of the child
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal ,
And yet be seen to bear a woman’s face ?
Women are soft , mild , pitiful , and flexible ;
Thou , stern , obdurate , flinty , rough , remorseless .
Bidd’st thou me rage ? Why , now thou hast thy wish .
Wouldst have me weep ? Why , now thou hast thy will ;
For raging wind blows up incessant showers ,
And when the rage allays , the rain begins .
These tears are my sweet Rutland’s obsequies ,
And every drop cries vengeance for his death
’Gainst thee , fell Clifford , and thee , false
Frenchwoman !

Henry VI, Part 3


That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touched , would not have stained
with blood ;
But you are more inhuman , more inexorable ,
O , ten times more than tigers of Hyrcania .
See , ruthless queen , a hapless father’s tears .
This cloth thou dipped’st in blood of my sweet boy ,
And I with tears do wash the blood away .

Keep thou the napkin and go boast of this ;
And if thou tell’st the heavy story right ,
Upon my soul , the hearers will shed tears .
Yea , even my foes will shed fast-falling tears
And say Alas , it was a piteous deed .

There , take the crown and , with the crown , my
curse ,
And in thy need such comfort come to thee
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand . —
Hard-hearted Clifford , take me from the world ,
My soul to heaven , my blood upon your heads .

Henry VI, Part 3


Off with his head , and set it on York gates ,
So York may overlook the town of York .

Henry VI, Part 3


I cannot joy until I be resolved
Where our right valiant father is become .
I saw him in the battle range about
And watched him how he singled Clifford forth .
Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
As doth a lion in a herd of neat ,
Or as a bear encompassed round with dogs ,
Who having pinched a few and made them cry ,
The rest stand all aloof and bark at him ;
So fared our father with his enemies ;
So fled his enemies my warlike father .
Methinks ’tis prize enough to be his son .
See how the morning opes her golden gates
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun .
How well resembles it the prime of youth ,
Trimmed like a younker , prancing to his love !

Henry VI, Part 3


Nay , bear three daughters : by your leave I speak it ,
You love the breeder better than the male .



But what art thou whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ?

Henry VI, Part 3


Ah , one that was a woeful looker-on
Whenas the noble Duke of York was slain ,
Your princely father and my loving lord .

Henry VI, Part 3


Environèd he was with many foes ,
And stood against them , as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have entered Troy .
But Hercules himself must yield to odds ;
And many strokes , though with a little axe ,
Hews down and fells the hardest-timbered oak .
By many hands your father was subdued ,
But only slaughtered by the ireful arm
Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen ,
Who crowned the gracious duke in high despite ,
Laughed in his face ; and when with grief he wept ,
The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks
A napkin steepèd in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland , by rough Clifford slain .
And after many scorns , many foul taunts ,
They took his head and on the gates of York
They set the same , and there it doth remain ,
The saddest spectacle that e’er I viewed .

Henry VI, Part 3


Ten days ago I drowned these news in tears .
And now to add more measure to your woes ,
I come to tell you things sith then befall’n .
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought ,
Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp ,
Tidings , as swiftly as the posts could run ,
Were brought me of your loss and his depart .
I , then in London , keeper of the King ,
Mustered my soldiers , gathered flocks of friends ,
Marched toward Saint Albans to intercept the
Queen ,
Bearing the King in my behalf along ;
For by my scouts I was advertisèd
That she was coming with a full intent
To dash our late decree in Parliament
Touching King Henry’s oath and your succession .
Short tale to make , we at Saint Albans met ,
Our battles joined , and both sides fiercely fought .
But whether ’twas the coldness of the King ,
Who looked full gently on his warlike queen ,
That robbed my soldiers of their heated spleen ,
Or whether ’twas report of her success
Or more than common fear of Clifford’s rigor ,
Who thunders to his captives blood and death ,
I cannot judge ; but to conclude with truth ,
Their weapons like to lightning came and went ;
Our soldiers’ , like the night owl’s lazy flight
Or like an idle thresher with a flail ,
Fell gently down , as if they struck their friends .
I cheered them up with justice of our cause ,
With promise of high pay and great rewards ,
But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight ,
And we , in them , no hope to win the day ,
So that we fled : the King unto the Queen ;
Lord George your brother , Norfolk , and myself
In haste , posthaste , are come to join with you ;
For in the Marches here we heard you were ,
Making another head to fight again .

Henry VI, Part 3


My gracious liege , this too much lenity
And harmful pity must be laid aside .
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den .
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ?
Not his that spoils her young before her face .
Who scapes the lurking serpent’s mortal sting ?
Not he that sets his foot upon her back .
The smallest worm will turn , being trodden on ,
And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood .
Ambitious York did level at thy crown ,
Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows .
He , but a duke , would have his son a king
And raise his issue like a loving sire ;
Thou being a king , blest with a goodly son ,
Didst yield consent to disinherit him ,
Which argued thee a most unloving father .
Unreasonable creatures feed their young ;
And though man’s face be fearful to their eyes ,
Yet in protection of their tender ones ,
Who hath not seen them , even with those wings
Which sometime they have used with fearful flight ,
Make war with him that climbed unto their nest ,
Offering their own lives in their young’s defense ?
For shame , my liege , make them your precedent .
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by his father’s fault ,
And long hereafter say unto his child
What my great-grandfather and grandsire got ,
My careless father fondly gave away ?
Ah , what a shame were this ! Look on the boy ,
And let his manly face , which promiseth
Successful fortune , steel thy melting heart
To hold thine own and leave thine own with him .

Henry VI, Part 3


If thou deny , their blood upon thy head ,
For York in justice puts his armor on .

Henry VI, Part 3


But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring ,
And that thy summer bred us no increase ,
We set the axe to thy usurping root ;
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves ,
Yet know thou , since we have begun to strike ,
We’ll never leave till we have hewn thee down
Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods .

Henry VI, Part 3


And in this resolution , I defy thee ,
Not willing any longer conference ,
Since thou denied’st the gentle king to speak . —
Sound , trumpets ! Let our bloody colors wave ;
And either victory or else a grave !

Henry VI, Part 3


Ah , Warwick , why hast thou withdrawn thyself ?
Thy brother’s blood the thirsty earth hath drunk ,
Broached with the steely point of Clifford’s lance ,
And in the very pangs of death he cried ,
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far ,
Warwick , revenge ! Brother , revenge my death !
So , underneath the belly of their steeds ,
That stained their fetlocks in his smoking blood ,
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost .

Henry VI, Part 3


Then let the earth be drunken with our blood !
I’ll kill my horse because I will not fly .
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here ,
Wailing our losses whiles the foe doth rage ,
And look upon , as if the tragedy
Were played in jest by counterfeiting actors ?

Here on my knee I vow to God above
I’ll never pause again , never stand still ,
Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine
Or Fortune given me measure of revenge .

Henry VI, Part 3


This battle fares like to the morning’s war ,
When dying clouds contend with growing light ,
What time the shepherd , blowing of his nails ,
Can neither call it perfect day nor night .
Now sways it this way , like a mighty sea
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind ;
Now sways it that way , like the selfsame sea
Forced to retire by fury of the wind .
Sometime the flood prevails , and then the wind ;
Now one the better , then another best ,
Both tugging to be victors , breast to breast ,
Yet neither conqueror nor conquerèd .
So is the equal poise of this fell war .
Here on this molehill will I sit me down .

To whom God will , there be the victory ;
For Margaret my queen and Clifford too
Have chid me from the battle , swearing both
They prosper best of all when I am thence .
Would I were dead , if God’s good will were so ,
For what is in this world but grief and woe ?
O God ! Methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain ,
To sit upon a hill as I do now ,
To carve out dials quaintly , point by point ,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run :
How many makes the hour full complete ,
How many hours brings about the day ,
How many days will finish up the year ,
How many years a mortal man may live .
When this is known , then to divide the times :
So many hours must I tend my flock ,
So many hours must I take my rest ,
So many hours must I contemplate ,
So many hours must I sport myself ,
So many days my ewes have been with young ,
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean ,
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece ;
So minutes , hours , days , months , and years ,
Passed over to the end they were created ,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave .
Ah , what a life were this ! How sweet , how lovely !
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep
Than doth a rich embroidered canopy
To kings that fear their subjects’ treachery ?
O yes , it doth , a thousandfold it doth .
And to conclude , the shepherd’s homely curds ,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle ,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree’s shade ,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys ,
Is far beyond a prince’s delicates —
His viands sparkling in a golden cup ,
His body couchèd in a curious bed —
When care , mistrust , and treason waits on him .

Henry VI, Part 3


Ill blows the wind that profits nobody .
This man , whom hand to hand I slew in fight ,
May be possessèd with some store of crowns ,
And I , that haply take them from him now ,
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else , as this dead man doth me .
Who’s this ? O God ! It is my father’s face ,
Whom in this conflict I unwares have killed .
O heavy times , begetting such events !
From London by the King was I pressed forth .
My father , being the Earl of Warwick’s man ,
Came on the part of York , pressed by his master .
And I , who at his hands received my life ,
Have by my hands of life bereavèd him .
Pardon me , God , I knew not what I did ;
And pardon , father , for I knew not thee .
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ,
And no more words till they have flowed their fill .

Henry VI, Part 3


O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times !
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens ,
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity .
Weep , wretched man . I’ll aid thee tear for tear ,
And let our hearts and eyes , like civil war ,
Be blind with tears and break , o’ercharged with grief .

Henry VI, Part 3


Woe above woe , grief more than common grief !
O , that my death would stay these ruthful deeds !
O pity , pity , gentle heaven , pity !
The red rose and the white are on his face ,
The fatal colors of our striving houses ;
The one his purple blood right well resembles ,
The other his pale cheeks methinks presenteth .
Wither one rose and let the other flourish ;
If you contend , a thousand lives must wither .

Henry VI, Part 3


Mount you , my lord ; towards Berwick post amain .
Edward and Richard , like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight ,
With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath
And bloody steel grasped in their ireful hands ,
Are at our backs , and therefore hence amain .

Henry VI, Part 3


Here burns my candle out ; ay , here it dies ,
Which whiles it lasted gave King Henry light .
O Lancaster , I fear thy overthrow
More than my body’s parting with my soul !
My love and fear glued many friends to thee ;
And now I fall , thy tough commixtures melts ,
Impairing Henry , strength’ning misproud York ;
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun ?
And who shines now but Henry’s enemies ?
O Phoebus , hadst thou never given consent
That Phaëton should check thy fiery steeds ,
Thy burning car never had scorched the Earth earth !
And Henry , hadst thou swayed as kings should do ,
Or as thy father and his father did ,
Giving no ground unto the house of York ,
They never then had sprung like summer flies ;
I and ten thousand in this luckless realm
Had left no mourning widows for our death ,
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace .
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air ?
And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity ?
Bootless are plaints , and cureless are my wounds ;
No way to fly , no strength to hold out flight .
The foe is merciless and will not pity ,
For at their hands I have deserved no pity .
The air hath got into my deadly wounds ,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint .
Come , York and Richard , Warwick and the rest .
I stabbed your fathers’ bosoms ; split my breast .

Henry VI, Part 3


Now breathe we , lords . Good fortune bids us pause
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks .
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen
That led calm Henry , though he were a king ,
As doth a sail filled with a fretting gust
Command an argosy to stem the waves .
But think you , lords , that Clifford fled with them ?

Henry VI, Part 3


What , not an oath ? Nay , then , the world goes hard
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath .
I know by that he’s dead ; and , by my soul ,
If this right hand would buy but two hours’ life
That I in all despite might rail at him ,
This hand should chop it off , and with the issuing
blood
Stifle the villain whose unstaunchèd thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy .

Henry VI, Part 3


Ay , but he’s dead . Off with the traitor’s head ,
And rear it in the place your father’s stands .
And now to London with triumphant march ,
There to be crownèd England’s royal king ,
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France
And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen ;
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together ,
And having France thy friend , thou shalt not dread
The scattered foe that hopes to rise again ;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt ,
Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears .
First will I see the coronation ,
And then to Brittany I’ll cross the sea
To effect this marriage , so it please my lord .

Henry VI, Part 3


Why , am I dead ? Do I not breathe a man ?
Ah , simple men , you know not what you swear .
Look as I blow this feather from my face
And as the air blows it to me again ,
Obeying with my wind when I do blow
And yielding to another when it blows ,
Commanded always by the greater gust ,
Such is the lightness of you common men .
But do not break your oaths , for of that sin
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty .
Go where you will , the King shall be commanded ,
And be you kings : command , and I’ll obey .

Henry VI, Part 3


Her looks doth argue her replete with modesty ;
Her words doth show her wit incomparable ;
All her perfections challenge sovereignty .
One way or other , she is for a king ,
And she shall be my love or else my queen . —
Say that King Edward take thee for his queen ?

Henry VI, Part 3


The widow likes it not , for she looks very sad .

Henry VI, Part 3


Ay , Edward will use women honorably !
Would he were wasted — marrow , bones , and all —
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring
To cross me from the golden time I look for .
And yet , between my soul’s desire and me ,
The lustful Edward’s title burièd ,
Is Clarence , Henry , and his son , young Edward ,
And all the unlooked-for issue of their bodies
To take their rooms ere I can place myself .
A cold premeditation for my purpose .
Why , then , I do but dream on sovereignty
Like one that stands upon a promontory
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread ,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ,
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence ,
Saying he’ll lade it dry to have his way .
So do I wish the crown , being so far off ,
And so I chide the means that keeps me from it ,
And so , I say , I’ll cut the causes off ,
Flattering me with impossibilities .
My eye’s too quick , my heart o’erweens too much ,
Unless my hand and strength could equal them .
Well , say there is no kingdom then for Richard ,
What other pleasure can the world afford ?
I’ll make my heaven in a lady’s lap
And deck my body in gay ornaments ,
And ’witch sweet ladies with my words and looks .
O miserable thought , and more unlikely
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns !
Why , Love forswore me in my mother’s womb ,
And , for I should not deal in her soft laws ,
She did corrupt frail Nature with some bribe
To shrink mine arm up like a withered shrub ;
To make an envious mountain on my back ,
Where sits Deformity to mock my body ;
To shape my legs of an unequal size ;
To disproportion me in every part ,
Like to a chaos , or an unlicked bear-whelp ,
That carries no impression like the dam .
And am I then a man to be beloved ?
O monstrous fault to harbor such a thought !
Then , since this Earth earth affords no joy to me
But to command , to check , to o’erbear such
As are of better person than myself ,
I’ll make my heaven to dream upon the crown ,
And , whiles I live , t’ account this world but hell
Until my misshaped trunk that bears this head
Be round impalèd with a glorious crown .
And yet I know not how to get the crown ,
For many lives stand between me and home ;
And I , like one lost in a thorny wood ,
That rents the thorns and is rent with the thorns ,
Seeking a way and straying from the way ,
Not knowing how to find the open air ,
But toiling desperately to find it out ,
Torment myself to catch the English crown .
And from that torment I will free myself
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe .
Why , I can smile , and murder whiles I smile ,
And cry Content to that which grieves my heart ,
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears ,
And frame my face to all occasions .
I’ll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall ;
I’ll slay more gazers than the basilisk ;
I’ll play the orator as well as Nestor ,
Deceive more slyly than Ulysses could ,
And , like a Sinon , take another Troy .
I can add colors to the chameleon ,
Change shapes with Proteus for advantages ,
And set the murderous Machiavel to school .
Can I do this and cannot get a crown ?
Tut , were it farther off , I’ll pluck it down .

Henry VI, Part 3


King Lewis and Lady Bona , hear me speak
Before you answer Warwick . His demand
Springs not from Edward’s well-meant honest love ,
But from deceit , bred by necessity ;
For how can tyrants safely govern home
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance ?
To prove him tyrant , this reason may suffice :
That Henry liveth still ; but were he dead ,
Yet here Prince Edward stands , King Henry’s son .
Look , therefore , Lewis , that by this league and
marriage
Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonor ;
For though usurpers sway the rule awhile ,
Yet heav’ns are just , and time suppresseth wrongs .

Henry VI, Part 3


Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick ?
Yet am I armed against the worst can happen ,
And haste is needful in this desp’rate case .
Pembroke and Stafford , you in our behalf
Go levy men and make prepare for war .
They are already , or quickly will be , landed .
Myself in person will straight follow you .

But ere I go , Hastings and Montague ,
Resolve my doubt : you twain , of all the rest ,
Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance .
Tell me if you love Warwick more than me .
If it be so , then both depart to him .
I rather wish you foes than hollow friends .
But if you mind to hold your true obedience ,
Give me assurance with some friendly vow ,
That I may never have you in suspect .

Henry VI, Part 3


Till then fair hope must hinder life’s decay ;
And I the rather wean me from despair
For love of Edward’s offspring in my womb .
This is it that makes me bridle passion
And bear with mildness my misfortune’s cross .
Ay , ay , for this I draw in many a tear
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs ,
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown
King Edward’s fruit , true heir to th’ English crown .

Henry VI, Part 3


Come hither , England’s hope .

If secret powers
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts ,
This pretty lad will prove our country’s bliss .
His looks are full of peaceful majesty ,
His head by nature framed to wear a crown ,
His hand to wield a scepter , and himself
Likely in time to bless a regal throne .
Make much of him , my lords , for this is he
Must help you more than you are hurt by me .

Henry VI, Part 3


Who should that be ? Belike unlooked-for friends .

Henry VI, Part 3


Sail how thou canst , have wind and tide thy friend ,
This hand , fast wound about thy coal-black coalblack hair ,
Shall , whiles thy head is warm and new cut off ,
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood :
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more .

Henry VI, Part 3


Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear !

Henry VI, Part 3


Father of Warwick , know you what this means ?

Look , here I throw my infamy at thee .

I will not ruinate my father’s house ,
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together
And set up Lancaster . Why , trowest thou , Warwick ,
That Clarence is so harsh , so blunt , unnatural ,
To bend the fatal instruments of war
Against his brother and his lawful king ?
Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath .
To keep that oath were more impiety
Than Jephthah when he sacrificed his daughter .
I am so sorry for my trespass made
That , to deserve well at my brother’s hands ,
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe ,
With resolution , wheresoe’er I meet thee —
As I will meet thee if thou stir abroad —
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me .
And so , proud-hearted Warwick , I defy thee
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks . —
Pardon me , Edward , I will make amends . —
And , Richard , do not frown upon my faults ,
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant .

Henry VI, Part 3


Ah , who is nigh ? Come to me , friend or foe ,
And tell me who is victor , York or Warwick ?
Why ask I that ? My mangled body shows ,
My blood , my want of strength , my sick heart shows
That I must yield my body to the earth
And , by my fall , the conquest to my foe .
Thus yields the cedar to the axe’s edge ,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle ,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept ,
Whose top branch overpeered Jove’s spreading tree
And kept low shrubs from winter’s pow’rful wind .
These eyes , that now are dimmed with death’s black
veil ,
Have been as piercing as the midday sun
To search the secret treasons of the world .
The wrinkles in my brows , now filled with blood ,
Were likened oft to kingly sepulchers ,
For who lived king but I could dig his grave ?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow ?
Lo , now my glory smeared in dust and blood !
My parks , my walks , my manors that I had
Even now forsake me ; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me but my body’s length .
Why , what is pomp , rule , reign , but earth and dust ?
And live we how we can , yet die we must .

Henry VI, Part 3


Why , then , I would not fly . Ah , Montague ,
If thou be there , sweet brother , take my hand
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile .
Thou lov’st me not , for , brother , if thou didst ,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealèd blood
That glues my lips and will not let me speak .
Come quickly , Montague , or I am dead .

Henry VI, Part 3


Great lords , wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms .
What though the mast be now blown overboard ,
The cable broke , the holding-anchor lost ,
And half our sailors swallowed in the flood ?
Yet lives our pilot still . Is ’t meet that he
Should leave the helm and , like a fearful lad ,
With tearful eyes add water to the sea
And give more strength to that which hath too much ,
Whiles in his moan the ship splits on the rock ,
Which industry and courage might have saved ?
Ah , what a shame , ah , what a fault were this !
Say Warwick was our anchor ; what of that ?
And Montague our topmast ; what of him ?
Our slaughtered friends the tackles ; what of these ?
Why , is not Oxford here another anchor ?
And Somerset another goodly mast ?
The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings ?
And , though unskillful , why not Ned and I
For once allowed the skillful pilot’s charge ?
We will not from the helm to sit and weep ,
But keep our course , though the rough wind say no ,
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wrack .
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair .
And what is Edward but a ruthless sea ?
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit ?
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock —
All these the enemies to our poor bark ?
Say you can swim : alas , ’tis but awhile ;
Tread on the sand : why , there you quickly sink ;
Bestride the rock : the tide will wash you off
Or else you famish ; that’s a threefold death .
This speak I , lords , to let you understand ,
If case some one of you would fly from us ,
That there’s no hoped-for mercy with the brothers
More than with ruthless waves , with sands and rocks .
Why , courage then ! What cannot be avoided
’Twere childish weakness to lament or fear .

Henry VI, Part 3


O Ned , sweet Ned , speak to thy mother , boy .
Canst thou not speak ? O traitors , murderers !
They that stabbed Caesar shed no blood at all ,
Did not offend , nor were not worthy blame ,
If this foul deed were by to equal it .
He was a man ; this , in respect , a child ,
And men ne’er spend their fury on a child .
What’s worse than murderer , that I may name it ?
No , no , my heart will burst an if I speak ,
And I will speak , that so my heart may burst .
Butchers and villains , bloody cannibals ,
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropped !
You have no children , butchers . If you had ,
The thought of them would have stirred up remorse .
But if you ever chance to have a child ,
Look in his youth to have him so cut off
As , deathsmen , you have rid this sweet young prince .

Henry VI, Part 3


Ay , but thou usest to forswear thyself .
’Twas sin before , but now ’tis charity .
What , wilt thou not ? Where is that devil’s butcher ,
Richard ,
Hard-favored Richard ? Richard , where art thou ?
Thou art not here . Murder is thy alms-deed ;
Petitioners for blood thou ne’er putt’st back .

Henry VI, Part 3


To London all in post , and , as I guess ,
To make a bloody supper in the Tower .

Henry VI, Part 3


What , will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have mounted .
See how my sword weeps for the poor king’s death .
O , may such purple tears be always shed
From those that wish the downfall of our house .
If any spark of life be yet remaining ,
Down , down to hell , and say I sent thee thither —

I that have neither pity , love , nor fear .
Indeed , ’tis true that Henry told me of ,
For I have often heard my mother say
I came into the world with my legs forward .
Had I not reason , think you , to make haste
And seek their ruin that usurped our right ?
The midwife wondered , and the women cried
O Jesus bless us , he is born with teeth !
And so I was , which plainly signified
That I should snarl , and bite , and play the dog .
Then , since the heavens have shaped my body so ,
Let hell make crook’d my mind to answer it .
I have no brother , I am like no brother ;
And this word love , which graybeards call divine ,
Be resident in men like one another
And not in me . I am myself alone .
Clarence , beware ; thou keep’st me from the light ,
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee ;
For I will buzz abroad such prophecies
That Edward shall be fearful of his life ;
And then to purge his fear , I’ll be thy death .
King Henry and the Prince his son are gone .
Clarence , thy turn is next , and then the rest ,
Counting myself but bad till I be best .
I’ll throw thy body in another room ,
And triumph , Henry , in thy day of doom .

Henry VI, Part 3


Once more we sit in England’s royal throne ,
Repurchased with the blood of enemies .
What valiant foemen , like to autumn’s corn ,
Have we mowed down in tops of all their pride !
Three dukes of Somerset , threefold renowned
For hardy and undoubted champions ;
Two Cliffords , as the father and the son ;
And two Northumberlands ; two braver men
Ne’er spurred their coursers at the trumpet’s sound .
With them the two brave bears , Warwick and
Montague ,
That in their chains fettered the kingly lion
And made the forest tremble when they roared .
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat
And made our footstool of security . —
Come hither , Bess , and let me kiss my boy . —
Young Ned , for thee , thine uncles and myself
Have in our armors watched the winter’s night ,
Went all afoot in summer’s scalding heat ,
That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace ,
And of our labors thou shalt reap the gain .

Henry VI, Part 3


I’ll blast his harvest , if your head were laid ;
For yet I am not looked on in the world .
This shoulder was ordained so thick to heave ,
And heave it shall some weight or break my back .
Work thou the way and that shalt execute .

Julius Caesar


Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings he home ?
What tributaries follow him to Rome
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ?
You blocks , you stones , you worse than senseless
things !
O you hard hearts , you cruel men of Rome ,
Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft
Have you climbed up to walls and battlements ,
To towers and windows , yea , to chimney tops ,
Your infants in your arms , and there have sat
The livelong day , with patient expectation ,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome .
And when you saw his chariot but appear ,
Have you not made an universal shout ,
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks
To hear the replication of your sounds
Made in her concave shores ?
And do you now put on your best attire ?
And do you now cull out a holiday ?
And do you now strew flowers in his way
That comes in triumph over Pompey’s blood ?
Be gone !
Run to your houses , fall upon your knees ,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude .

Julius Caesar


Fellow , come from the throng .

Look upon Caesar .

Julius Caesar

Cassius ,
Be not deceived . If I have veiled my look ,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself . Vexèd I am
Of late with passions of some difference ,
Conceptions only proper to myself ,
Which give some soil , perhaps , to my behaviors .
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved
( Among which number , Cassius , be you one )
Nor construe any further my neglect
Than that poor Brutus , with himself at war ,
Forgets the shows of love to other men .

Julius Caesar


I would not , Cassius , yet I love him well .
But wherefore do you hold me here so long ?
What is it that you would impart to me ?
If it be aught toward the general good ,
Set honor in one eye and death i’ th’ other
And I will look on both indifferently ;
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honor more than I fear death .

Julius Caesar


I know that virtue to be in you , Brutus ,
As well as I do know your outward favor .
Well , honor is the subject of my story .
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life ; but , for my single self ,
I had as lief not be as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself .
I was born free as Caesar ; so were you ;
We both have fed as well , and we can both
Endure the winter’s cold as well as he .
For once , upon a raw and gusty day ,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores ,
Caesar said to me Dar’st thou , Cassius , now
Leap in with me into this angry flood
And swim to yonder point ? Upon the word ,
Accoutered as I was , I plungèd in
And bade him follow ; so indeed he did .
The torrent roared , and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews , throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy .
But ere we could arrive the point proposed ,
Caesar cried Help me , Cassius , or I sink !
I , as Aeneas , our great ancestor ,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear , so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Caesar . And this man
Is now become a god , and Cassius is
A wretched creature and must bend his body
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him .
He had a fever when he was in Spain ,
And when the fit was on him , I did mark
How he did shake . ’Tis true , this god did shake .
His coward lips did from their color fly ,
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world
Did lose his luster . I did hear him groan .
Ay , and that tongue of his that bade the Romans
Mark him and write his speeches in their books ,
Alas , it cried Give me some drink , Titinius
As a sick girl . You gods , it doth amaze me
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world
And bear the palm alone .

Julius Caesar


Why , man , he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus , and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves .
Men at some time are masters of their fates .
The fault , dear Brutus , is not in our stars ,
But in ourselves , that we are underlings .
Brutus and Caesar — what should be in that
Caesar ?
Why should that name be sounded more than
yours ?
Write them together , yours is as fair a name ;
Sound them , it doth become the mouth as well ;
Weigh them , it is as heavy ; conjure with ’em ,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar .
Now , in the names of all the gods at once ,
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed
That he is grown so great ? Age , thou art shamed !
Rome , thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods !
When went there by an age , since the great flood ,
But it was famed with more than with one man ?
When could they say , till now , that talked of Rome ,
That her wide walks encompassed but one man ?
Now is it Rome indeed , and room enough
When there is in it but one only man .
O , you and I have heard our fathers say
There was a Brutus once that would have brooked
Th’ eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king .

Julius Caesar


I will do so . But look you , Cassius ,
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar’s brow ,
And all the rest look like a chidden train .
Calphurnia’s cheek is pale , and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes
As we have seen him in the Capitol ,
Being crossed in conference by some senators .

Julius Caesar


Let me have men about me that are fat ,
Sleek-headed men , and such as sleep a-nights .
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look .
He thinks too much . Such men are dangerous .

Julius Caesar


Would he were fatter ! But I fear him not .
Yet if my name were liable to fear ,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius . He reads much ,
He is a great observer , and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men . He loves no plays ,
As thou dost , Antony ; he hears no music ;
Seldom he smiles , and smiles in such a sort
As if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit
That could be moved to smile at anything .
Such men as he be never at heart’s ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves ,
And therefore are they very dangerous .
I rather tell thee what is to be feared
Than what I fear ; for always I am Caesar .
Come on my right hand , for this ear is deaf ,
And tell me truly what thou think’st of him .

Julius Caesar


Ay , Casca . Tell us what hath chanced today
That Caesar looks so sad .

Julius Caesar

Nay , an I tell you that , I’ll ne’er look you i’ th’
face again . But those that understood him smiled at
one another and shook their heads . But for mine
own part , it was Greek to me . I could tell you more
news too : Marullus and Flavius , for pulling scarves
off Caesar’s images , are put to silence . Fare you
well . There was more foolery yet , if I could remember
it .

Julius Caesar


You are dull , Casca , and those sparks of life
That should be in a Roman you do want ,
Or else you use not . You look pale , and gaze ,
And put on fear , and cast yourself in wonder ,
To see the strange impatience of the heavens .
But if you would consider the true cause
Why all these fires , why all these gliding ghosts ,
Why birds and beasts from quality and kind ,
Why old men , fools , and children calculate ,
Why all these things change from their ordinance ,
Their natures , and preformèd faculties ,
To monstrous quality — why , you shall find
That heaven hath infused them with these spirits
To make them instruments of fear and warning
Unto some monstrous state .
Now could I , Casca , name to thee a man
Most like this dreadful night ,
That thunders , lightens , opens graves , and roars
As doth the lion in the Capitol ;
A man no mightier than thyself or me
In personal action , yet prodigious grown ,
And fearful , as these strange eruptions are .

Julius Caesar

There’s a bargain made .
Now know you , Casca , I have moved already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans
To undergo with me an enterprise
Of honorable-dangerous consequence .
And I do know by this they stay for me
In Pompey’s Porch . For now , this fearful night ,
There is no stir or walking in the streets ;
And the complexion of the element
In favor ’s like the work we have in hand ,
Most bloody , fiery , and most terrible .

Julius Caesar


Be you content . Good Cinna , take this paper ,
And look you lay it in the Praetor’s chair ,
Where Brutus may but find it ; and throw this
In at his window ; set this up with wax
Upon old Brutus’ statue . All this done ,
Repair to Pompey’s Porch , where you shall find us .
Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there ?

Julius Caesar


It must be by his death . And for my part
I know no personal cause to spurn at him ,
But for the general . He would be crowned :
How that might change his nature , there’s the
question .
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder ,
And that craves wary walking . Crown him that ,
And then I grant we put a sting in him
That at his will he may do danger with .
Th’ abuse of greatness is when it disjoins
Remorse from power . And , to speak truth of Caesar ,
I have not known when his affections swayed
More than his reason . But ’tis a common proof
That lowliness is young ambition’s ladder ,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face ;
But , when he once attains the upmost round ,
He then unto the ladder turns his back ,
Looks in the clouds , scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend . So Caesar may .
Then , lest he may , prevent . And since the quarrel
Will bear no color for the thing he is ,
Fashion it thus : that what he is , augmented ,
Would run to these and these extremities .
And therefore think him as a serpent’s egg ,
Which , hatched , would , as his kind , grow
mischievous ,
And kill him in the shell .

Julius Caesar


Look in the calendar , and bring me word .

Julius Caesar


No , not an oath . If not the face of men ,
The sufferance of our souls , the time’s abuse —
If these be motives weak , break off betimes ,
And every man hence to his idle bed .
So let high-sighted tyranny range on
Till each man drop by lottery . But if these —
As I am sure they do — bear fire enough
To kindle cowards and to steel with valor
The melting spirits of women , then , countrymen ,
What need we any spur but our own cause
To prick us to redress ? What other bond
Than secret Romans that have spoke the word
And will not palter ? And what other oath
Than honesty to honesty engaged
That this shall be or we will fall for it ?
Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous ,
Old feeble carrions , and such suffering souls
That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear
Such creatures as men doubt ; but do not stain
The even virtue of our enterprise ,
Nor th’ insuppressive mettle of our spirits ,
To think that or our cause or our performance
Did need an oath , when every drop of blood
That every Roman bears , and nobly bears ,
Is guilty of a several bastardy
If he do break the smallest particle
Of any promise that hath passed from him .

Julius Caesar


Our course will seem too bloody , Caius Cassius ,
To cut the head off and then hack the limbs ,
Like wrath in death and envy afterwards ;
For Antony is but a limb of Caesar .
Let’s be sacrificers , but not butchers , Caius .
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar ,
And in the spirit of men there is no blood .
O , that we then could come by Caesar’s spirit
And not dismember Caesar ! But , alas ,
Caesar must bleed for it . And , gentle friends ,
Let’s kill him boldly , but not wrathfully .
Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods ,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds .
And let our hearts , as subtle masters do ,
Stir up their servants to an act of rage
And after seem to chide ’em . This shall make
Our purpose necessary and not envious ;
Which so appearing to the common eyes ,
We shall be called purgers , not murderers .
And for Mark Antony , think not of him ,
For he can do no more than Caesar’s arm
When Caesar’s head is off .

Julius Caesar


Good gentlemen , look fresh and merrily .
Let not our looks put on our purposes ,
But bear it , as our Roman actors do ,
With untired spirits and formal constancy .
And so good morrow to you every one .

Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep ? It is no matter .
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber .
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies
Which busy care draws in the brains of men .
Therefore thou sleep’st so sound .

Julius Caesar


Nor for yours neither . You’ve ungently , Brutus ,
Stole from my bed . And yesternight at supper
You suddenly arose and walked about ,
Musing and sighing , with your arms across ,
And when I asked you what the matter was ,
You stared upon me with ungentle looks .
I urged you further ; then you scratched your head
And too impatiently stamped with your foot .
Yet I insisted ; yet you answered not ,
But with an angry wafture of your hand
Gave sign for me to leave you . So I did ,
Fearing to strengthen that impatience
Which seemed too much enkindled , and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humor ,
Which sometime hath his hour with every man .
It will not let you eat nor talk nor sleep ,
And could it work so much upon your shape
As it hath much prevailed on your condition ,
I should not know you Brutus . Dear my lord ,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief .

Julius Caesar


Caesar shall forth . The things that threatened me
Ne’er looked but on my back . When they shall see
The face of Caesar , they are vanishèd .

Julius Caesar


Caesar , I never stood on ceremonies ,
Yet now they fright me . There is one within ,
Besides the things that we have heard and seen ,
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch .
A lioness hath whelpèd in the streets ,
And graves have yawned and yielded up their dead .
Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds
In ranks and squadrons and right form of war ,
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol .
The noise of battle hurtled in the air ,
Horses did neigh , and dying men did groan ,
And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets .
O Caesar , these things are beyond all use ,
And I do fear them .

Julius Caesar


The cause is in my will . I will not come .
That is enough to satisfy the Senate .
But for your private satisfaction ,
Because I love you , I will let you know .
Calphurnia here , my wife , stays me at home .
She dreamt tonight she saw my statue ,
Which , like a fountain with an hundred spouts ,
Did run pure blood ; and many lusty Romans
Came smiling and did bathe their hands in it .
And these does she apply for warnings and portents
And evils imminent , and on her knee
Hath begged that I will stay at home today .

Julius Caesar


This dream is all amiss interpreted .
It was a vision fair and fortunate .
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes ,
In which so many smiling Romans bathed ,
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck
Reviving blood , and that great men shall press
For tinctures , stains , relics , and cognizance .
This by Calphurnia’s dream is signified .

Julius Caesar


How foolish do your fears seem now , Calphurnia !
I am ashamèd I did yield to them .
Give me my robe , for I will go .


And look where Publius is come to fetch me .

Julius Caesar

Caesar , beware of Brutus , take heed of
Cassius , come not near Casca , have an eye to Cinna ,
trust not Trebonius , mark well Metellus Cimber .
Decius Brutus loves thee not . Thou hast wronged
Caius Ligarius . There is but one mind in all these
men , and it is bent against Caesar . If thou beest not
immortal , look about you . Security gives way to
conspiracy . The mighty gods defend thee !
Thy lover ,
Artemidorus
Here will I stand till Caesar pass along ,
And as a suitor will I give him this .
My heart laments that virtue cannot live
Out of the teeth of emulation .
If thou read this , O Caesar , thou mayest live ;
If not , the Fates with traitors do contrive .

Julius Caesar


Yes , bring me word , boy , if thy lord look well ,
For he went sickly forth . And take good note
What Caesar doth , what suitors press to him .
Hark , boy , what noise is that ?

Julius Caesar


Look how he makes to Caesar . Mark him .

Julius Caesar

Cassius , be constant .
Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ,
For look , he smiles , and Caesar doth not change .

Julius Caesar


Trebonius knows his time , for look you , Brutus ,
He draws Mark Antony out of the way .

Julius Caesar

I must prevent thee , Cimber .
These couchings and these lowly courtesies
Might fire the blood of ordinary men
And turn preordinance and first decree
Into the law of children . Be not fond
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood
That will be thawed from the true quality
With that which melteth fools — I mean sweet
words ,
Low-crookèd curtsies , and base spaniel fawning .
Thy brother by decree is banishèd .
If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him ,
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way .
Know : Caesar doth not wrong , nor without cause
Will he be satisfied .

Julius Caesar


I could be well moved , if I were as you .
If I could pray to move , prayers would move me .
But I am constant as the Northern Star ,
Of whose true fixed and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament .
The skies are painted with unnumbered sparks ;
They are all fire , and every one doth shine .
But there’s but one in all doth hold his place .
So in the world : ’tis furnished well with men ,
And men are flesh and blood , and apprehensive .
Yet in the number I do know but one
That unassailable holds on his rank ,
Unshaked of motion ; and that I am he
Let me a little show it , even in this :
That I was constant Cimber should be banished
And constant do remain to keep him so .

Julius Caesar


Grant that , and then is death a benefit .
So are we Caesar’s friends , that have abridged
His time of fearing death . Stoop , Romans , stoop ,
And let us bathe our hands in Caesar’s blood
Up to the elbows and besmear our swords .
Then walk we forth , even to the marketplace ,
And , waving our red weapons o’er our heads ,
Let’s all cry Peace , freedom , and liberty !

Julius Caesar


Stoop then , and wash .

How many ages hence
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over
In states unborn and accents yet unknown !

Julius Caesar


O mighty Caesar , dost thou lie so low ?
Are all thy conquests , glories , triumphs , spoils
Shrunk to this little measure ? Fare thee well . —
I know not , gentlemen , what you intend ,
Who else must be let blood , who else is rank .
If I myself , there is no hour so fit
As Caesar’s death’s hour , nor no instrument
Of half that worth as those your swords made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world .
I do beseech you , if you bear me hard ,
Now , whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke ,
Fulfill your pleasure . Live a thousand years ,
I shall not find myself so apt to die ;
No place will please me so , no mean of death ,
As here by Caesar , and by you cut off ,
The choice and master spirits of this age .

Julius Caesar


O Antony , beg not your death of us !
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel ,
As by our hands and this our present act
You see we do , yet see you but our hands
And this the bleeding business they have done .
Our hearts you see not ; they are pitiful ;
And pity to the general wrong of Rome
( As fire drives out fire , so pity pity )
Hath done this deed on Caesar . For your part ,
To you our swords have leaden points , Mark Antony .
Our arms in strength of malice , and our hearts
Of brothers’ temper , do receive you in
With all kind love , good thoughts , and reverence .

Julius Caesar

I doubt not of your wisdom .
Let each man render me his bloody hand .
First , Marcus Brutus , will I shake with you . —
Next , Caius Cassius , do I take your hand . —
Now , Decius Brutus , yours ; — now yours ,
Metellus ; —
Yours , Cinna ; — and , my valiant Casca , yours ; —
Though last , not least in love , yours , good
Trebonius . —
Gentlemen all — alas , what shall I say ?
My credit now stands on such slippery ground
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me ,
Either a coward or a flatterer . —
That I did love thee , Caesar , O , ’tis true !
If then thy spirit look upon us now ,
Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death
To see thy Antony making his peace ,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes —
Most noble ! — in the presence of thy corpse ?
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds ,
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood ,
It would become me better than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies .
Pardon me , Julius ! Here wast thou bayed , brave
hart ,
Here didst thou fall , and here thy hunters stand
Signed in thy spoil and crimsoned in thy Lethe .
O world , thou wast the forest to this hart ,
And this indeed , O world , the heart of thee .
How like a deer strucken by many princes
Dost thou here lie !

Julius Caesar


Therefore I took your hands , but was indeed
Swayed from the point by looking down on Caesar .
Friends am I with you all and love you all ,
Upon this hope , that you shall give me reasons
Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous .

Julius Caesar


O pardon me , thou bleeding piece of earth ,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers .
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man
That ever livèd in the tide of times .
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood !
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy
( Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue )
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ;
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ;
Blood and destruction shall be so in use
And dreadful objects so familiar
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quartered with the hands of war ,
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds ;
And Caesar’s spirit , ranging for revenge ,
With Ate by his side come hot from hell ,
Shall in these confines with a monarch’s voice
Cry Havoc ! and let slip the dogs of war ,
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men groaning for burial .



You serve Octavius Caesar , do you not ?

Julius Caesar


Post back with speed and tell him what hath
chanced .
Here is a mourning Rome , a dangerous Rome ,
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet .
Hie hence and tell him so . — Yet stay awhile ;
Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corpse
Into the marketplace . There shall I try ,
In my oration , how the people take
The cruel issue of these bloody men ,
According to the which thou shalt discourse
To young Octavius of the state of things .
Lend me your hand .

Julius Caesar


But yesterday the word of Caesar might
Have stood against the world . Now lies he there ,
And none so poor to do him reverence .
O masters , if I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage ,
I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong ,
Who , you all know , are honorable men .
I will not do them wrong . I rather choose
To wrong the dead , to wrong myself and you ,
Than I will wrong such honorable men .
But here’s a parchment with the seal of Caesar .
I found it in his closet . ’Tis his will .
Let but the commons hear this testament ,
Which , pardon me , I do not mean to read ,
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wounds
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood —
Yea , beg a hair of him for memory
And , dying , mention it within their wills ,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
Unto their issue .

Julius Caesar


If you have tears , prepare to shed them now .
You all do know this mantle . I remember
The first time ever Caesar put it on .
’Twas on a summer’s evening in his tent ,
That day he overcame the Nervii .
Look , in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through .
See what a rent the envious Casca made .
Through this the well-belovèd Brutus stabbed ,
And , as he plucked his cursèd steel away ,
Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it ,
As rushing out of doors to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked or no ;
For Brutus , as you know , was Caesar’s angel .
Judge , O you gods , how dearly Caesar loved him !
This was the most unkindest cut of all .
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab ,
Ingratitude , more strong than traitors’ arms ,
Quite vanquished him . Then burst his mighty heart ,
And , in his mantle muffling up his face ,
Even at the base of Pompey’s statue
( Which all the while ran blood ) great Caesar fell .
O , what a fall was there , my countrymen !
Then I and you and all of us fell down ,
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us .
O , now you weep , and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity . These are gracious drops .
Kind souls , what , weep you when you but behold
Our Caesar’s vesture wounded ? Look you here ,

Here is himself , marred as you see with traitors .

Julius Caesar

O most bloody sight !

Julius Caesar


Good friends , sweet friends , let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny .
They that have done this deed are honorable .
What private griefs they have , alas , I know not ,
That made them do it . They are wise and honorable
And will no doubt with reasons answer you .
I come not , friends , to steal away your hearts .
I am no orator , as Brutus is ,
But , as you know me all , a plain blunt man
That love my friend , and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him .
For I have neither wit , nor words , nor worth ,
Action , nor utterance , nor the power of speech
To stir men’s blood . I only speak right on .
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ,
Show you sweet Caesar’s wounds , poor poor dumb
mouths ,
And bid them speak for me . But were I Brutus ,
And Brutus Antony , there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue
In every wound of Caesar that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny .

Julius Caesar


He shall not live ; look , with a spot I damn him .
But , Lepidus , go you to Caesar’s house ;
Fetch the will hither , and we shall determine
How to cut off some charge in legacies .

Julius Caesar

Thou hast described
A hot friend cooling . Ever note , Lucilius ,
When love begins to sicken and decay
It useth an enforcèd ceremony .
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith ;
But hollow men , like horses hot at hand ,
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle ,

But when they should endure the bloody spur ,
They fall their crests and , like deceitful jades ,
Sink in the trial . Comes his army on ?

Julius Caesar


You have done that you should be sorry for .
There is no terror , Cassius , in your threats ,
For I am armed so strong in honesty
That they pass by me as the idle wind ,
Which I respect not . I did send to you
For certain sums of gold , which you denied me ,
For I can raise no money by vile means .
By heaven , I had rather coin my heart
And drop my blood for drachmas than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection . I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions ,
Which you denied me . Was that done like Cassius ?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous
To lock such rascal counters from his friends ,
Be ready , gods , with all your thunderbolts ;
Dash him to pieces !

Julius Caesar

Hath Cassius lived
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus
When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him ?

Julius Caesar


Under your pardon . You must note besides
That we have tried the utmost of our friends ,
Our legions are brim full , our cause is ripe .
The enemy increaseth every day ;
We , at the height , are ready to decline .
There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which , taken at the flood , leads on to fortune ;
Omitted , all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries .
On such a full sea are we now afloat ,
And we must take the current when it serves
Or lose our ventures .

Julius Caesar


I will not have it so . Lie down , good sirs .
It may be I shall otherwise bethink me .

Look , Lucius , here’s the book I sought for so .
I put it in the pocket of my gown .

Julius Caesar


I should not urge thy duty past thy might .
I know young bloods look for a time of rest .

Julius Caesar


It was well done , and thou shalt sleep again .
I will not hold thee long . If I do live ,
I will be good to thee .

This is a sleepy tune . O murd’rous slumber ,
Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy ,
That plays thee music ? — Gentle knave , good night .
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee .
If thou dost nod , thou break’st thy instrument .
I’ll take it from thee and , good boy , good night .

Let me see , let me see ; is not the leaf turned down
Where I left reading ? Here it is , I think .
How ill this taper burns .



Ha , who comes here ? —
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition .
It comes upon me . — Art thou any thing ?
Art thou some god , some angel , or some devil ,
That mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare ?
Speak to me what thou art .

Julius Caesar

Prepare you , generals .
The enemy comes on in gallant show .
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out ,
And something to be done immediately .

Julius Caesar


Come , come , the cause . If arguing make us sweat ,
The proof of it will turn to redder drops .
Look , I draw a sword against conspirators ;

When think you that the sword goes up again ?
Never , till Caesar’s three and thirty wounds
Be well avenged , or till another Caesar
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors .

Julius Caesar

Messala ,
This is my birthday , as this very day
Was Cassius born . Give me thy hand , Messala .
Be thou my witness that against my will
( As Pompey was ) am I compelled to set
Upon one battle all our liberties .
You know that I held Epicurus strong
And his opinion . Now I change my mind
And partly credit things that do presage .
Coming from Sardis , on our former ensign
Two mighty eagles fell , and there they perched ,
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands ,
Who to Philippi here consorted us .
This morning are they fled away and gone ,
And in their steads do ravens , crows , and kites
Fly o’er our heads and downward look on us
As we were sickly prey . Their shadows seem
A canopy most fatal , under which
Our army lies , ready to give up the ghost .

Julius Caesar


O , look , Titinius , look , the villains fly !
Myself have to mine own turned enemy .
This ensign here of mine was turning back ;
I slew the coward and did take it from him .

Julius Caesar


This hill is far enough . — Look , look , Titinius ,
Are those my tents where I perceive the fire ?

Julius Caesar

No , this was he , Messala ,
But Cassius is no more . O setting sun ,
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night ,
So in his red blood Cassius’ day is set .
The sun of Rome is set . Our day is gone ;
Clouds , dews , and dangers come . Our deeds are
done .
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed .

Julius Caesar

Brave Titinius ! —
Look whe’er he have not crowned dead Cassius .

Julius Caesar


To kill him , Clitus . Look , he meditates .

King John


The proud control of fierce and bloody war ,
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld .

King John


Here have we war for war and blood for blood ,
Controlment for controlment : so answer France .

King John


Bear mine to him , and so depart in peace .
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ,
For ere thou canst report , I will be there ;
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard .
So , hence . Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
And sullen presage of your own decay . —
An honorable conduct let him have .
Pembroke , look to ’t . — Farewell , Chatillion .

King John


What now , my son ! Have I not ever said
How that ambitious Constance would not cease
Till she had kindled France and all the world
Upon the right and party of her son ?
This might have been prevented and made whole
With very easy arguments of love ,
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate .

King John


Madam , an if my brother had my shape
And I had his , Sir Robert’s his like him ,
And if my legs were two such riding-rods ,
My arms such eel-skins stuffed , my face so thin
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose ,
Lest men should say Look where three-farthings
goes ,
And , to his shape , were heir to all this land ,
Would I might never stir from off this place ,
I would give it every foot to have this face .
I would not be Sir Nob in any case .

King John


Before Angiers well met , brave Austria . —
Arthur , that great forerunner of thy blood ,
Richard , that robbed the lion of his heart
And fought the holy wars in Palestine ,
By this brave duke came early to his grave .
And , for amends to his posterity ,
At our importance hither is he come
To spread his colors , boy , in thy behalf ,
And to rebuke the usurpation
Of thy unnatural uncle , English John .
Embrace him , love him , give him welcome hither .

King John


Well , then , to work . Our cannon shall be bent
Against the brows of this resisting town .
Call for our chiefest men of discipline
To cull the plots of best advantages .
We’ll lay before this town our royal bones ,
Wade to the marketplace in Frenchmen’s blood ,
But we will make it subject to this boy .

King John


Stay for an answer to your embassy ,
Lest unadvised you stain your swords with blood .
My lord Chatillion may from England bring
That right in peace which here we urge in war ,
And then we shall repent each drop of blood
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed .

King John


Then turn your forces from this paltry siege
And stir them up against a mightier task .
England , impatient of your just demands ,
Hath put himself in arms . The adverse winds ,
Whose leisure I have stayed , have given him time
To land his legions all as soon as I .
His marches are expedient to this town ,
His forces strong , his soldiers confident .
With him along is come the Mother Queen ,
An Ate stirring him to blood and strife ;
With her her niece , the Lady Blanche of Spain ;
With them a bastard of the King’s deceased .
And all th’ unsettled humors of the land —
Rash , inconsiderate , fiery voluntaries ,
With ladies’ faces and fierce dragons’ spleens —
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes ,
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs ,
To make a hazard of new fortunes here .
In brief , a braver choice of dauntless spirits
Than now the English bottoms have waft o’er
Did never float upon the swelling tide
To do offense and scathe in Christendom .

The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumstance . They are at hand ,
To parley or to fight , therefore prepare .

King John


How much unlooked-for is this expedition .

King John


Peace be to England , if that war return
From France to England , there to live in peace .
England we love , and for that England’s sake
With burden of our armor here we sweat .
This toil of ours should be a work of thine ;
But thou from loving England art so far
That thou hast underwrought his lawful king ,
Cut off the sequence of posterity ,
Outfacèd infant state , and done a rape
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown .
Look here upon thy brother Geoffrey’s face .

These eyes , these brows , were molded out of his ;
This little abstract doth contain that large
Which died in Geoffrey , and the hand of time
Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume .
That Geoffrey was thy elder brother born ,
And this his son . England was Geoffrey’s right ,
And this is Geoffrey’s . In the name of God ,
How comes it then that thou art called a king ,
When living blood doth in these temples beat
Which owe the crown that thou o’ermasterest ?

King John


From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts
In any breast of strong authority
To look into the blots and stains of right .
That judge hath made me guardian to this boy ,
Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong ,
And by whose help I mean to chastise it .

King John


One that will play the devil , sir , with you ,
An he may catch your hide and you alone .
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes ,
Whose valor plucks dead lions by the beard .
I’ll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right .
Sirrah , look to ’t . I’ faith , I will , i’ faith !

King John


For our advantage . Therefore hear us first .
These flags of France that are advancèd here
Before the eye and prospect of your town ,
Have hither marched to your endamagement .
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ,
And ready mounted are they to spit forth
Their iron indignation ’gainst your walls .
All preparation for a bloody siege
And merciless proceeding by these French
Confronts your city’s eyes , your winking gates ,
And , but for our approach , those sleeping stones ,
That as a waist doth girdle you about ,
By the compulsion of their ordinance
By this time from their fixèd beds of lime
Had been dishabited , and wide havoc made
For bloody power to rush upon your peace .
But on the sight of us your lawful king ,
Who painfully with much expedient march
Have brought a countercheck before your gates
To save unscratched your city’s threatened cheeks ,
Behold , the French , amazed , vouchsafe a parle .
And now , instead of bullets wrapped in fire
To make a shaking fever in your walls ,
They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke
To make a faithless error in your ears ,
Which trust accordingly , kind citizens ,
And let us in . Your king , whose labored spirits
Forwearied in this action of swift speed ,
Craves harborage within your city walls .

King John


When I have said , make answer to us both .

Lo , in this right hand , whose protection
Is most divinely vowed upon the right
Of him it holds , stands young Plantagenet ,
Son to the elder brother of this man ,
And king o’er him and all that he enjoys .
For this downtrodden equity we tread
In warlike march these greens before your town ,
Being no further enemy to you
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal
In the relief of this oppressèd child
Religiously provokes . Be pleasèd then
To pay that duty which you truly owe
To him that owes it , namely , this young prince ,
And then our arms , like to a muzzled bear
Save in aspect , hath all offense sealed up .
Our cannons’ malice vainly shall be spent
Against th’ invulnerable clouds of heaven ,
And with a blessèd and unvexed retire ,
With unbacked swords and helmets all unbruised ,
We will bear home that lusty blood again
Which here we came to spout against your town ,
And leave your children , wives , and you in peace .
But if you fondly pass our proffered offer ,
’Tis not the roundure of your old-faced walls
Can hide you from our messengers of war ,
Though all these English and their discipline
Were harbored in their rude circumference .
Then tell us , shall your city call us lord
In that behalf which we have challenged it ?
Or shall we give the signal to our rage
And stalk in blood to our possession ?

King John


As many and as wellborn bloods as those —

King John


Rejoice , you men of Angiers , ring your bells !
King John , your king and England’s , doth approach ,
Commander of this hot malicious day .
Their armors , that marched hence so silver bright ,
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen’s blood .
There stuck no plume in any English crest
That is removèd by a staff of France .
Our colors do return in those same hands
That did display them when we first marched forth ,
And like a jolly troop of huntsmen come
Our lusty English , all with purpled hands ,
Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes .
Open your gates , and give the victors way .

King John


Heralds , from off our towers we might behold
From first to last the onset and retire
Of both your armies , whose equality
By our best eyes cannot be censurèd .
Blood hath bought blood , and blows have answered
blows ,
Strength matched with strength , and power
confronted power .
Both are alike , and both alike we like .
One must prove greatest . While they weigh so even ,
We hold our town for neither , yet for both .

King John


France , hast thou yet more blood to cast away ?
Say , shall the current of our right roam on ,
Whose passage , vexed with thy impediment ,
Shall leave his native channel and o’erswell
With course disturbed even thy confining shores ,
Unless thou let his silver water keep
A peaceful progress to the ocean ?

King John


England , thou hast not saved one drop of blood
In this hot trial more than we of France ,
Rather lost more . And by this hand I swear
That sways the earth this climate overlooks ,
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms ,
We’ll put thee down , ’gainst whom these arms we
bear ,
Or add a royal number to the dead ,
Gracing the scroll that tells of this war’s loss
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings .

King John


Ha , majesty ! How high thy glory towers
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire !
O , now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel ,
The swords of soldiers are his teeth , his fangs ,
And now he feasts , mousing the flesh of men
In undetermined differences of kings .
Why stand these royal fronts amazèd thus ?
Cry havoc , kings ! Back to the stainèd field ,
You equal potents , fiery-kindled spirits .
Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other’s peace . Till then , blows , blood , and
death !

King John


By heaven , these scroyles of Angiers flout you , kings ,
And stand securely on their battlements
As in a theater , whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death .
Your royal presences , be ruled by me :
Do like the mutines of Jerusalem ,
Be friends awhile , and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town .
By east and west let France and England mount
Their battering cannon chargèd to the mouths ,
Till their soul-fearing clamors have brawled down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city .
I’d play incessantly upon these jades ,
Even till unfencèd desolation
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air .
That done , dissever your united strengths
And part your mingled colors once again ;
Turn face to face and bloody point to point .
Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side her happy minion ,
To whom in favor she shall give the day
And kiss him with a glorious victory .
How like you this wild counsel , mighty states ?
Smacks it not something of the policy ?

King John


That daughter there of Spain , the Lady Blanche ,
Is near to England . Look upon the years
Of Louis the Dauphin and that lovely maid .
If lusty love should go in quest of beauty ,
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanche ?
If zealous love should go in search of virtue ,
Where should he find it purer than in Blanche ?
If love ambitious sought a match of birth ,
Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady
Blanche ?
Such as she is , in beauty , virtue , birth ,
Is the young Dauphin every way complete .
If not complete of , say he is not she ,
And she again wants nothing , to name want ,
If want it be not that she is not he .
He is the half part of a blessèd man ,
Left to be finishèd by such as she ,
And she a fair divided excellence ,
Whose fullness of perfection lies in him .
O , two such silver currents when they join
Do glorify the banks that bound them in ,
And two such shores to two such streams made one ,
Two such controlling bounds shall you be , kings ,
To these two princes , if you marry them .
This union shall do more than battery can
To our fast-closèd gates , for at this match ,
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce ,
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope
And give you entrance . But without this match ,
The sea enragèd is not half so deaf ,
Lions more confident , mountains and rocks
More free from motion , no , not Death himself
In mortal fury half so peremptory
As we to keep this city .

King John

Here’s a stay
That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death
Out of his rags ! Here’s a large mouth indeed
That spits forth death and mountains , rocks and
seas ;
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions
As maids of thirteen do of puppy dogs .
What cannoneer begot this lusty blood ?
He speaks plain cannon fire , and smoke , and
bounce .
He gives the bastinado with his tongue .
Our ears are cudgeled . Not a word of his
But buffets better than a fist of France .
Zounds , I was never so bethumped with words
Since I first called my brother’s father Dad .

King John


Son , list to this conjunction ; make this match .
Give with our niece a dowry large enough ,
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsured assurance to the crown
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit .
I see a yielding in the looks of France .
Mark how they whisper . Urge them while their
souls
Are capable of this ambition ,
Lest zeal , now melted by the windy breath
Of soft petitions , pity , and remorse ,
Cool and congeal again to what it was .

King John


If that the Dauphin there , thy princely son ,
Can in this book of beauty read I love ,
Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen .
For Anjou and fair Touraine , Maine , Poitiers ,
And all that we upon this side the sea —
Except this city now by us besieged —
Find liable to our crown and dignity ,
Shall gild her bridal bed and make her rich
In titles , honors , and promotions ,
As she in beauty , education , blood ,
Holds hand with any princess of the world .

King John


What sayst thou , boy ? Look in the lady’s face .

King John

We will heal up all ,
For we’ll create young Arthur Duke of Brittany
And Earl of Richmond , and this rich , fair town
We make him lord of . — Call the Lady Constance .
Some speedy messenger bid her repair
To our solemnity . I trust we
shall ,
If not fill up the measure of her will ,
Yet in some measure satisfy her so
That we shall stop her exclamation .
Go we as well as haste will suffer us
To this unlooked-for , unpreparèd pomp .

King John


Gone to be married ? Gone to swear a peace ?
False blood to false blood joined ? Gone to be friends ?
Shall Louis have Blanche and Blanche those
provinces ?
It is not so . Thou hast misspoke , misheard .
Be well advised ; tell o’er thy tale again .
It cannot be ; thou dost but say ’tis so .
I trust I may not trust thee , for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man .
Believe me , I do not believe thee , man .
I have a king’s oath to the contrary .
Thou shalt be punished for thus flighting me ,
For I am sick and capable of fears ,
Oppressed with wrongs and therefore full of fears ,
A widow , husbandless , subject to fears ,
A woman naturally born to fears .
And though thou now confess thou didst but jest ,
With my vexed spirits I cannot take a truce ,
But they will quake and tremble all this day .
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ?
What means that hand upon that breast of thine ?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum ,
Like a proud river peering o’er his bounds ?
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ?
Then speak again — not all thy former tale ,
But this one word , whether thy tale be true .

King John


You have beguiled me with a counterfeit
Resembling majesty , which , being touched and tried ,
Proves valueless . You are forsworn , forsworn .
You came in arms to spill mine enemies’ blood ,
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours .
The grappling vigor and rough frown of war
Is cold in amity and painted peace ,
And our oppression hath made up this league .
Arm , arm , you heavens , against these perjured
kings !
A widow cries ; be husband to me , God !
Let not the hours of this ungodly day
Wear out the days in peace , but ere sunset
Set armèd discord ’twixt these perjured kings .
Hear me , O , hear me !

King John


War , war , no peace ! Peace is to me a war .
O Limoges , O Austria , thou dost shame
That bloody spoil . Thou slave , thou wretch , thou
coward ,
Thou little valiant , great in villainy ,
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ,
Thou Fortune’s champion , that dost never fight
But when her humorous Ladyship ladyship is by
To teach thee safety . Thou art perjured too ,
And sooth’st up greatness . What a fool art thou ,
A ramping fool , to brag and stamp and swear
Upon my party . Thou cold-blooded slave ,
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ?
Been sworn my soldier , bidding me depend
Upon thy stars , thy fortune , and thy strength ?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes ?
Thou wear a lion’s hide ! Doff it for shame ,
And hang a calfskin on those recreant limbs .

King John


Look’st thou pale , France ? Do not let go thy hand .

King John


Look to that , devil , lest that France repent
And by disjoining hands , hell lose a soul .

King John


Good reverend father , make my person yours ,
And tell me how you would bestow yourself .
This royal hand and mine are newly knit ,
And the conjunction of our inward souls
Married , in league , coupled , and linked together
With all religious strength of sacred vows .
The latest breath that gave the sound of words
Was deep-sworn faith , peace , amity , true love
Between our kingdoms and our royal selves ;
And even before this truce , but new before ,
No longer than we well could wash our hands
To clap this royal bargain up of peace ,
God knows they were besmeared and overstained
With slaughter’s pencil , where revenge did paint
The fearful difference of incensèd kings .
And shall these hands , so lately purged of blood ,
So newly joined in love , so strong in both ,
Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet ?
Play fast and loose with faith ? So jest with heaven ?
Make such unconstant children of ourselves
As now again to snatch our palm from palm ,
Unswear faith sworn , and on the marriage bed
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host
And make a riot on the gentle brow
Of true sincerity ? O holy sir ,
My reverend father , let it not be so !
Out of your grace , devise , ordain , impose
Some gentle order , and then we shall be blest
To do your pleasure and continue friends .

King John


So mak’st thou faith an enemy to faith ,
And like a civil war sett’st oath to oath ,
Thy tongue against thy tongue . O , let thy vow
First made to God , first be to God performed ,
That is , to be the champion of our Church !
What since thou swor’st is sworn against thyself
And may not be performèd by thyself ,
For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss
Is not amiss when it is truly done ;
And being not done where doing tends to ill ,
The truth is then most done not doing it .
The better act of purposes mistook
Is to mistake again ; though indirect ,
Yet indirection thereby grows direct ,
And falsehood falsehood cures , as fire cools fire
Within the scorchèd veins of one new-burned .
It is religion that doth make vows kept ,
But thou hast sworn against religion
By what thou swear’st against the thing thou
swear’st ,
And mak’st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath . The truth thou art unsure
To swear swears only not to be forsworn ,
Else what a mockery should it be to swear ?
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ,
And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear .
Therefore thy later vows against thy first
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself .
And better conquest never canst thou make
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against these giddy loose suggestions ,
Upon which better part our prayers come in ,
If thou vouchsafe them . But if not , then know
The peril of our curses light on thee
So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off ,
But in despair die under their black weight .

King John

Upon thy wedding day ?
Against the blood that thou hast marrièd ?
What , shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men ?
Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums ,
Clamors of hell , be measures to our pomp ?

O husband , hear me ! Ay , alack , how new
Is husband in my mouth ! Even for that name ,
Which till this time my tongue did ne’er pronounce ,
Upon my knee I beg , go not to arms
Against mine uncle .

King John


The sun’s o’ercast with blood . Fair day , adieu .
Which is the side that I must go withal ?
I am with both , each army hath a hand ,
And in their rage , I having hold of both ,
They whirl asunder and dismember me .
Husband , I cannot pray that thou mayst win . —
Uncle , I needs must pray that thou mayst lose . —
Father , I may not wish the fortune thine . —
Grandam , I will not wish thy wishes thrive .
Whoever wins , on that side shall I lose .
Assurèd loss before the match be played .

King John


Cousin , go draw our puissance together .

France , I am burned up with inflaming wrath ,
A rage whose heat hath this condition ,
That nothing can allay , nothing but blood —
The blood , and dearest-valued blood , of France .

King John


Thy rage shall burn thee up , and thou shalt turn
To ashes ere our blood shall quench that fire .
Look to thyself . Thou art in jeopardy .

King John


So shall it be . Your Grace shall stay behind
So strongly guarded . Cousin , look not sad .
Thy grandam loves thee , and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was .

King John


Good friend , thou hast no cause to say so yet ,
But thou shalt have . And , creep time ne’er so slow ,
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good .
I had a thing to say — but let it go .
The sun is in the heaven , and the proud day ,
Attended with the pleasures of the world ,
Is all too wanton and too full of gauds
To give me audience . If the midnight bell
Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth
Sound on into the drowsy race of night ;
If this same were a churchyard where we stand ,
And thou possessèd with a thousand wrongs ;
Or if that surly spirit , melancholy ,
Had baked thy blood and made it heavy , thick ,
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins ,
Making that idiot , laughter , keep men’s eyes
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment ,
A passion hateful to my purposes ;
Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes ,
Hear me without thine ears , and make reply
Without a tongue , using conceit alone ,
Without eyes , ears , and harmful sound of words ;
Then , in despite of brooded watchful day ,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts .
But , ah , I will not . Yet I love thee well ,
And by my troth I think thou lov’st me well .

King John


So , by a roaring tempest on the flood ,
A whole armada of convicted sail
Is scattered and disjoined from fellowship .

King John


What can go well when we have run so ill ?
Are we not beaten ? Is not Angiers lost ?
Arthur ta’en prisoner ? Divers dear friends slain ?
And bloody England into England gone ,
O’erbearing interruption , spite of France ?

King John


Well could I bear that England had this praise ,
So we could find some pattern of our shame .



Look who comes here ! A grave unto a soul ,
Holding th’ eternal spirit against her will
In the vile prison of afflicted breath . —
I prithee , lady , go away with me .

King John


Yes , that I will . And wherefore will I do it ?
I tore them from their bonds and cried aloud
O , that these hands could so redeem my son ,
As they have given these hairs their liberty !
But now I envy at their liberty ,
And will again commit them to their bonds ,
Because my poor child is a prisoner .

And father cardinal , I have heard you say
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven .
If that be true , I shall see my boy again ;
For since the birth of Cain , the first male child ,
To him that did but yesterday suspire ,
There was not such a gracious creature born .
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud
And chase the native beauty from his cheek ,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost ,
As dim and meager as an ague’s fit ,
And so he’ll die ; and , rising so again ,
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
I shall not know him . Therefore never , never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more .

King John


Grief fills the room up of my absent child ,
Lies in his bed , walks up and down with me ,
Puts on his pretty looks , repeats his words ,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts ,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ;
Then , have I reason to be fond of grief ?
Fare you well . Had you such a loss as I ,
I could give better comfort than you do .

I will not keep this form upon my head
When there is such disorder in my wit .
O Lord ! My boy , my Arthur , my fair son ,
My life , my joy , my food , my all the world ,
My widow-comfort and my sorrows’ cure !

King John


If you had won it , certainly you had .
No , no . When Fortune means to men most good ,
She looks upon them with a threat’ning eye .
’Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost
In this which he accounts so clearly won .
Are not you grieved that Arthur is his prisoner ?

King John


Your mind is all as youthful as your blood .
Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit .
For even the breath of what I mean to speak
Shall blow each dust , each straw , each little rub ,
Out of the path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England’s throne . And therefore mark :
John hath seized Arthur , and it cannot be
That , whiles warm life plays in that infant’s veins ,
The misplaced John should entertain an hour ,
One minute , nay , one quiet breath of rest .
A scepter snatched with an unruly hand
Must be as boisterously maintained as gained .
And he that stands upon a slipp’ry place
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up .
That John may stand , then Arthur needs must fall .
So be it , for it cannot be but so .

King John


How green you are and fresh in this old world !
John lays you plots . The times conspire with you ,
For he that steeps his safety in true blood
Shall find but bloody safety , and untrue .
This act so evilly borne shall cool the hearts
Of all his people and freeze up their zeal ,
That none so small advantage shall step forth
To check his reign but they will cherish it .
No natural exhalation in the sky ,
No scope of nature , no distempered day ,
No common wind , no customèd event ,
But they will pluck away his natural cause
And call them meteors , prodigies , and signs ,
Abortives , presages , and tongues of heaven ,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John .

King John


O , sir , when he shall hear of your approach ,
If that young Arthur be not gone already ,
Even at that news he dies ; and then the hearts
Of all his people shall revolt from him
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change ,
And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath
Out of the bloody fingers’ ends of John .
Methinks I see this hurly all on foot ;
And , O , what better matter breeds for you
Than I have named ! The bastard Faulconbridge
Is now in England ransacking the Church ,
Offending charity . If but a dozen French
Were there in arms , they would be as a call
To train ten thousand English to their side ,
Or as a little snow , tumbled about ,
Anon becomes a mountain . O noble dauphin ,
Go with me to the King . ’Tis wonderful
What may be wrought out of their discontent ,
Now that their souls are topful of offense .
For England , go . I will whet on the King .

King John


Heat me these irons hot , and look thou stand
Within the arras . When I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground , rush forth
And bind the boy which you shall find with me
Fast to the chair . Be heedful . Hence , and watch .

King John


Uncleanly scruples fear not you . Look to ’t .

Young lad , come forth . I have to say with you .

King John


Are you sick , Hubert ? You look pale today .
In sooth , I would you were a little sick
That I might sit all night and watch with you .
I warrant I love you more than you do me .

King John


O , save me , Hubert , save me ! My eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men .

King John


Alas , what need you be so boist’rous-rough ?
I will not struggle ; I will stand stone-still .
For God’s sake , Hubert , let me not be bound !
Nay , hear me , Hubert ! Drive these men away ,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb .
I will not stir nor wince nor speak a word
Nor look upon the iron angerly .
Thrust but these men away , and I’ll forgive you ,
Whatever torment you do put me to .

King John


Alas , I then have chid away my friend !
He hath a stern look but a gentle heart .
Let him come back , that his compassion may
Give life to yours .

King John


Hubert , the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes .
Let me not hold my tongue . Let me not , Hubert ,
Or , Hubert , if you will , cut out my tongue ,
So I may keep mine eyes . O , spare mine eyes ,
Though to no use but still to look on you .

Lo , by my troth , the instrument is cold ,
And would not harm me .

King John


O , now you look like Hubert . All this while
You were disguisèd .

King John


Here once again we sit , once again crowned
And looked upon , I hope , with cheerful eyes .

King John


This is the man should do the bloody deed .
He showed his warrant to a friend of mine .
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye . That close aspect of his
Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast ,
And I do fearfully believe ’tis done
What we so feared he had a charge to do .

King John


Stay yet , Lord Salisbury . I’ll go with thee
And find th’ inheritance of this poor child ,
His little kingdom of a forcèd grave .
That blood which owed the breadth of all this isle ,
Three foot of it doth hold . Bad world the while !
This must not be thus borne ; this will break out
To all our sorrows , and ere long , I doubt .

King John


They burn in indignation . I repent .
There is no sure foundation set on blood ,
No certain life achieved by others’ death .



A fearful eye thou hast . Where is that blood
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ?
So foul a sky clears not without a storm .
Pour down thy weather : how goes all in France ?

King John


Bear with me , cousin , for I was amazed
Under the tide , but now I breathe again
Aloft the flood and can give audience
To any tongue , speak it of what it will .

King John


It is the curse of kings to be attended
By slaves that take their humors for a warrant
To break within the bloody house of life ,
And on the winking of authority
To understand a law , to know the meaning
Of dangerous majesty , when perchance it frowns
More upon humor than advised respect .

King John


O , when the last accompt twixt heaven and Earth earth
Is to be made , then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation !
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Make deeds ill done ! Hadst not thou been by ,
A fellow by the hand of nature marked ,
Quoted , and signed to do a deed of shame ,
This murder had not come into my mind .
But taking note of thy abhorred aspect ,
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy ,
Apt , liable to be employed in danger ,
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur’s death ;
And thou , to be endearèd to a king ,
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince .

King John


Hadst thou but shook thy head or made a pause
When I spake darkly what I purposèd ,
Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face ,
As bid me tell my tale in express words ,
Deep shame had struck me dumb , made me break
off ,
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me .
But thou didst understand me by my signs
And didst in signs again parley with sin ,
Yea , without stop didst let thy heart consent
And consequently thy rude hand to act
The deed which both our tongues held vile to name .
Out of my sight , and never see me more .
My nobles leave me , and my state is braved ,
Even at my gates , with ranks of foreign powers .
Nay , in the body of this fleshly land ,
This kingdom , this confine of blood and breath ,
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience and my cousin’s death .

King John


Arm you against your other enemies .
I’ll make a peace between your soul and you .
Young Arthur is alive . This hand of mine
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand ,
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood .
Within this bosom never entered yet
The dreadful motion of a murderous thought ,
And you have slandered nature in my form ,
Which , howsoever rude exteriorly ,
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
Than to be butcher of an innocent child .

King John


Doth Arthur live ? O , haste thee to the peers ,
Throw this report on their incensèd rage ,
And make them tame to their obedience .
Forgive the comment that my passion made
Upon thy feature , for my rage was blind ,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art .
O , answer not , but to my closet bring
The angry lords with all expedient haste .
I conjure thee but slowly ; run more fast .

King John


The King hath dispossessed himself of us .
We will not line his thin bestainèd cloak
With our pure honors , nor attend the foot
That leaves the print of blood where’er it walks .
Return , and tell him so . We know the worst .

King John


Sir Richard , what think you ? You have beheld .
Or have you read or heard , or could you think ,
Or do you almost think , although you see ,
That you do see ? Could thought , without this object ,
Form such another ? This is the very top ,
The height , the crest , or crest unto the crest ,
Of murder’s arms . This is the bloodiest shame ,
The wildest savagery , the vilest stroke
That ever wall-eyed wrath or staring rage
Presented to the tears of soft remorse .

King John


All murders past do stand excused in this .
And this , so sole and so unmatchable ,
Shall give a holiness , a purity ,
To the yet unbegotten sin of times
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest ,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle .

King John


It is a damnèd and a bloody work ,
The graceless action of a heavy hand ,
If that it be the work of any hand .

King John


Now keep your holy word . Go meet the French ,
And from his Holiness use all your power
To stop their marches ’fore we are inflamed .
Our discontented counties do revolt ,
Our people quarrel with obedience ,
Swearing allegiance and the love of soul
To stranger blood , to foreign royalty .
This inundation of mistempered humor
Rests by you only to be qualified .
Then pause not , for the present time’s so sick
That present med’cine must be ministered ,
Or overthrow incurable ensues .

King John


So , on my soul , he did , for aught he knew .
But wherefore do you droop ? Why look you sad ?
Be great in act , as you have been in thought .
Let not the world see fear and sad distrust
Govern the motion of a kingly eye .
Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ;
Threaten the threat’ner , and outface the brow
Of bragging horror . So shall inferior eyes ,
That borrow their behaviors from the great ,
Grow great by your example and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution .
Away , and glister like the god of war
When he intendeth to become the field .
Show boldness and aspiring confidence .
What , shall they seek the lion in his den
And fright him there ? And make him tremble there ?
O , let it not be said ! Forage , and run
To meet displeasure farther from the doors ,
And grapple with him ere he come so nigh .

King John


Upon our sides it never shall be broken .
And , noble dauphin , albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal and unurged faith
To your proceedings , yet believe me , prince ,
I am not glad that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaster by contemned revolt
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound
By making many . O , it grieves my soul
That I must draw this metal from my side
To be a widow-maker ! O , and there
Where honorable rescue and defense
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury !
But such is the infection of the time
That for the health and physic of our right ,
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confusèd wrong .
And is ’t not pity , O my grievèd friends ,
That we , the sons and children of this isle ,
Was born to see so sad an hour as this ,
Wherein we step after a stranger , march
Upon her gentle bosom , and fill up
Her enemies’ ranks ? I must withdraw and weep
Upon the spot of this enforcèd cause ,
To grace the gentry of a land remote ,
And follow unacquainted colors here .
What , here ? O nation , that thou couldst remove ,
That Neptune’s arms , who clippeth thee about ,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore ,
Where these two Christian armies might combine
The blood of malice in a vein of league ,
And not to spend it so unneighborly .

King John


A noble temper dost thou show in this ,
And great affections wrestling in thy bosom
Doth make an earthquake of nobility .
O , what a noble combat hast thou fought
Between compulsion and a brave respect !
Let me wipe off this honorable dew
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks .
My heart hath melted at a lady’s tears ,
Being an ordinary inundation ,
But this effusion of such manly drops ,
This shower , blown up by tempest of the soul ,
Startles mine eyes and makes me more amazed
Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven
Figured quite o’er with burning meteors .
Lift up thy brow , renownèd Salisbury ,
And with a great heart heave away this storm .
Commend these waters to those baby eyes
That never saw the giant world enraged ,
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts
Full warm of blood , of mirth , of gossiping .
Come , come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity
As Louis himself . — So , nobles , shall you all ,
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine .
And even there , methinks , an angel spake .



Look where the holy legate comes apace
To give us warrant from the hand of God ,
And on our actions set the name of right
With holy breath .

King John


You look but on the outside of this work .

King John


Outside or inside , I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promisèd
Before I drew this gallant head of war
And culled these fiery spirits from the world
To outlook conquest and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death .

What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ?

King John


By all the blood that ever fury breathed ,
The youth says well ! Now hear our English king ,
For thus his royalty doth speak in me :
He is prepared — and reason too he should .
This apish and unmannerly approach ,
This harnessed masque and unadvisèd revel ,
This unheard sauciness and boyish troops ,
The King doth smile at , and is well prepared
To whip this dwarfish war , these pigmy arms ,
From out the circle of his territories .
That hand which had the strength , even at your door ,
To cudgel you and make you take the hatch ,
To dive like buckets in concealèd wells ,
To crouch in litter of your stable planks ,
To lie like pawns locked up in chests and trunks ,
To hug with swine , to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons , and to thrill and shake
Even at the crying of your nation’s crow ,
Thinking this voice an armèd Englishman —
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here
That in your chambers gave you chastisement ?
No ! Know the gallant monarch is in arms ,
And like an eagle o’er his aerie towers
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest . —
And you degenerate , you ingrate revolts ,
You bloody Neroes , ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England , blush for shame !
For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids
Like Amazons come tripping after drums ,
Their thimbles into armèd gauntlets change ,
Their needles to lances , and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination .

King John


We do believe thee , and beshrew my soul
But I do love the favor and the form
Of this most fair occasion , by the which
We will untread the steps of damnèd flight ,
And like a bated and retirèd flood ,
Leaving our rankness and irregular course ,
Stoop low within those bounds we have o’erlooked
And calmly run on in obedience
Even to our ocean , to our great King John .
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ,
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye . — Away , my friends ! New flight ,
And happy newness , that intends old right .

King John


The sun of heaven , methought , was loath to set ,
But stayed and made the western welkin blush ,
When English measured backward their own
ground
In faint retire . O , bravely came we off ,
When with a volley of our needless shot ,
After such bloody toil , we bid good night
And wound our tott’ring colors clearly up ,
Last in the field and almost lords of it .

King John


It is too late . The life of all his blood
Is touched corruptibly , and his pure brain ,
Which some suppose the soul’s frail dwelling-house ,
Doth , by the idle comments that it makes ,
Foretell the ending of mortality .

King John

The salt in them is hot .
Within me is a hell , and there the poison
Is , as a fiend , confined to tyrannize
On unreprievable , condemnèd blood .

King John


The Dauphin is preparing hitherward ,
Where God He knows how we shall answer him .
For in a night the best part of my power ,
As I upon advantage did remove ,
Were in the Washes all unwarily
Devourèd by the unexpected flood .

King Lear


Let it be so . Thy truth , then , be thy dower ,
For by the sacred radiance of the sun ,
The mysteries of Hecate and the night ,
By all the operation of the orbs
From whom we do exist and cease to be ,
Here I disclaim all my paternal care ,
Propinquity , and property of blood ,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee from this forever . The barbarous
Scythian ,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite , shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbored , pitied , and relieved
As thou my sometime daughter .

King Lear


Is it but this — a tardiness in nature
Which often leaves the history unspoke
That it intends to do ? — My lord of Burgundy ,
What say you to the lady ? Love’s not love
When it is mingled with regards that stands
Aloof from th’ entire point . Will you have her ?
She is herself a dowry .

King Lear

The best and soundest of his time hath been
but rash . Then must we look from his age to
receive not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed
condition , but therewithal the unruly waywardness
that infirm and choleric years bring with
them .

King Lear

I beseech you , sir , pardon me . It is a letter
from my brother that I have not all o’erread ; and
for so much as I have perused , I find it not fit for
your o’erlooking .

King Lear


And let his knights have colder looks among you .
What grows of it , no matter . Advise your fellows so .
I would breed from hence occasions , and I shall ,
That I may speak . I’ll write straight to my sister
To hold my very course . Prepare for dinner .

King Lear

Thou but remembrest me of mine own conception .
I have perceived a most faint neglect of late ,
which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous
curiosity than as a very pretense and purpose of
unkindness . I will look further into ’t . But where’s
my Fool ? I have not seen him this two days .

King Lear

Do you bandy looks with me , you rascal ?

King Lear


I’ll tell thee . Life and death ! I am
ashamed
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus ,
That these hot tears , which break from me perforce ,
Should make thee worth them . Blasts and fogs upon
thee !
Th’ untented woundings of a father’s curse
Pierce every sense about thee ! Old fond eyes ,
Beweep this cause again , I’ll pluck you out
And cast you , with the waters that you loose ,
To temper clay . Yea , is ’t come to this ?
Ha ! Let it be so . I have another daughter
Who , I am sure , is kind and comfortable .
When she shall hear this of thee , with her nails
She’ll flay thy wolvish visage . Thou shalt find
That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off forever .

King Lear


I hear my father coming . Pardon me .
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you .
Draw . Seem to defend yourself . Now , quit you
well .
Yield ! Come before my father ! Light , hoa , here !
Fly , brother . — Torches , torches !
— So , farewell .
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion
Of my more fierce endeavor . I have seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport .
Father , father !
Stop , stop ! No help ?

King Lear


Look , sir , I bleed .

King Lear


That such a slave as this should wear a sword ,
Who wears no honesty . Such smiling rogues as
these ,
Like rats , oft bite the holy cords atwain
Which are too intrinse t’ unloose ; smooth every
passion
That in the natures of their lords rebel — ,
Being oil to fire , snow to the colder moods — ,
Renege , affirm , and turn their halcyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters ,
Knowing naught , like dogs , but following . —
A plague upon your epileptic visage !
Smile you my speeches , as I were a fool ?
Goose , if I had you upon Sarum plain ,
I’d drive you cackling home to Camelot .

King Lear

My lord , when at their home
I did commend your Highness’ letters to them ,
Ere I was risen from the place that showed
My duty kneeling , came there a reeking post ,
Stewed in his haste , half breathless , panting forth
From Goneril his mistress salutations ;
Delivered letters , spite of intermission ,
Which presently they read ; on whose contents
They summoned up their meiny , straight took
horse ,
Commanded me to follow and attend
The leisure of their answer , gave me cold looks ;
And meeting here the other messenger ,
Whose welcome , I perceived , had poisoned mine ,
Being the very fellow which of late
Displayed so saucily against your Highness ,
Having more man than wit about me , drew .
He raised the house with loud and coward cries .
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers .

King Lear


The King would speak with Cornwall . The dear
father
Would with his daughter speak , commands , tends
service .
Are they informed of this ? My breath and
blood !
Fiery ? The fiery duke ? Tell the hot duke that —
No , but not yet . Maybe he is not well .
Infirmity doth still neglect all office
Whereto our health is bound . We are not ourselves
When nature , being oppressed , commands the mind
To suffer with the body . I’ll forbear ,
And am fallen out with my more headier will ,
To take the indisposed and sickly fit
For the sound man . Death on
my state ! Wherefore
Should he sit here ? This act persuades me
That this remotion of the Duke and her
Is practice only . Give me my servant forth .
Go tell the Duke and ’s wife I’d speak with them .
Now , presently , bid them come forth and hear me ,
Or at their chamber door I’ll beat the drum
Till it cry sleep to death .

King Lear

Never , Regan .
She hath abated me of half my train ,
Looked black upon me , struck me with her tongue
Most serpentlike upon the very heart .
All the stored vengeances of heaven fall
On her ingrateful top ! Strike her young bones ,
You taking airs , with lameness !

King Lear


Who stocked my servant ? Regan , I have good hope
Thou didst not know on ’t .



Who comes here ? O heavens ,
If you do love old men , if your sweet sway
Allow obedience , if you yourselves are old ,
Make it your cause . Send down and take my part .
Art not ashamed to look upon this
beard ?
O Regan , will you take her by the hand ?

King Lear


Return to her ? And fifty men dismissed ?
No ! Rather I abjure all roofs , and choose
To wage against the enmity o’ th’ air ,
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl ,
Necessity’s sharp pinch . Return with her ?
Why the hot-blooded France , that dowerless took
Our youngest born — I could as well be brought
To knee his throne and , squire-like , pension beg
To keep base life afoot . Return with her ?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
To this detested groom .

King Lear


I prithee , daughter , do not make me mad .
I will not trouble thee , my child . Farewell .
We’ll no more meet , no more see one another .
But yet thou art my flesh , my blood , my daughter ,
Or , rather , a disease that’s in my flesh ,
Which I must needs call mine . Thou art a boil ,
A plague-sore or embossèd carbuncle
In my corrupted blood . But I’ll not chide thee .
Let shame come when it will ; I do not call it .
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot ,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove .
Mend when thou canst . Be better at thy leisure .
I can be patient . I can stay with Regan ,
I and my hundred knights .

King Lear

Not altogether so .
I looked not for you yet , nor am provided
For your fit welcome . Give ear , sir , to my sister ,
For those that mingle reason with your passion
Must be content to think you old , and so —
But she knows what she does .

King Lear


Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favored
When others are more wicked . Not being the worst
Stands in some rank of praise . I’ll go
with thee .
Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty ,
And thou art twice her love .

King Lear

Sir , I do know you
And dare upon the warrant of my note
Commend a dear thing to you . There is division ,
Although as yet the face of it is covered
With mutual cunning , ’twixt Albany and Cornwall ,
Who have — as who have not , that their great stars
Throned and set high ? — servants , who seem no less ,
Which are to France the spies and speculations
Intelligent of our state . But true it is , From from France there comes
a power
Into this scattered kingdom , who already ,
Wise in our negligence , have secret feet
In some of our best ports and are at point
To show their open banner . Now to you :
If on my credit you dare build so far
To make your speed to Dover , you shall find
Some that will thank you , making just report
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
The King hath cause to plain : . what What hath been seen ,
Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes ,
Or the hard rein which both of them hath borne
Against the old kind king , or something deeper ,
Whereof perchance these are but furnishings . —
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding ,
And from some knowledge and assurance offer
This office to you .

King Lear

Let the great gods
That keep this dreadful pudder o’er our heads
Find out their enemies now . Tremble , thou wretch ,
That hast within thee undivulgèd crimes
Unwhipped of justice . Hide thee , thou bloody hand ,
Thou perjured , and thou simular of virtue
That art incestuous . Caitiff , to pieces shake ,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Has practiced on man’s life . Close pent-up guilts ,
Rive your concealing continents and cry
These dreadful summoners grace . I am a man
More sinned against than sinning .

King Lear

Go to ; say you nothing . There is division
between the dukes , and a worse matter than that . I
have received a letter this night ; ’tis dangerous to
be spoken ; I have locked the letter in my closet .
These injuries the King now bears will be revenged
home ; there is part of a power already footed . We
must incline to the King . I will look him and privily
relieve him . Go you and maintain talk with the
Duke , that my charity be not of him perceived . If he
ask for me , I am ill and gone to bed . If I die for it , as
no less is threatened me , the King my old master
must be relieved . There is strange things toward ,
Edmund . Pray you , be careful .

King Lear


Prithee , go in thyself . Seek thine own ease .
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more . But I’ll go in . —
In , boy ; go first . — You houseless poverty —
Nay , get thee in . I’ll pray , and then I’ll sleep .

Poor naked wretches , wheresoe’er you are ,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm ,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides ,
Your looped and windowed raggedness defend
you
From seasons such as these ? O , I have ta’en
Too little care of this . Take physic , pomp .
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ,
That thou may’st shake the superflux to them
And show the heavens more just .

King Lear

Pillicock sat on Pillicock Hill . Alow , alow , loo ,
loo .

King Lear

A servingman , proud in heart and mind , that
curled my hair , wore gloves in my cap , served the
lust of my mistress’ heart and did the act of
darkness with her , swore as many oaths as I spake
words and broke them in the sweet face of heaven ;
one that slept in the contriving of lust and waked to
do it . Wine loved I deeply , dice dearly , and in
woman out-paramoured the Turk . False of heart ,
light of ear , bloody of hand ; hog in sloth , fox in
stealth , wolf in greediness , dog in madness , lion in
prey . Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling
of silks betray thy poor heart to woman . Keep thy
foot out of brothels , thy hand out of plackets , thy
pen from lenders’ books , and defy the foul fiend .
Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind ;
says suum , mun , nonny . Dolphin my boy , boy , sessa !
Let him trot by .

King Lear

Prithee , nuncle , be contented . ’Tis a naughty
night to swim in . Now , a little fire in a wild field
were like an old lecher’s heart — a small spark , all
the rest on ’s body cold .



Look , here comes a walking fire .

King Lear


Our flesh and blood , my lord , is grown so vile
That it doth hate what gets it .

King Lear

Canst thou blame him ?

His daughters seek his death . Ah , that good Kent !
He said it would be thus , poor banished man .
Thou sayest the King grows mad ; I’ll tell thee ,
friend ,
I am almost mad myself . I had a son ,
Now outlawed from my blood . He sought my life
But lately , very late . I loved him , friend ,
No father his son dearer . True to tell thee ,
The grief hath crazed my wits . What a night’s this !
— I do beseech your Grace —

King Lear


Child Rowland to the dark tower came .
His word was still Fie , foh , and fum ,
I smell the blood of a British man .

King Lear

If I find him comforting the King , it
will stuff his suspicion more fully . — I will persevere
in my course of loyalty , though the conflict be sore
between that and my blood .

King Lear

Look where he stands and glares ! — Want’st
thou eyes at trial , madam ?
Come o’er the burn , Bessy , to me —

King Lear


And here’s another whose warped looks proclaim
What store her heart is made on . Stop her there !
Arms , arms , sword , fire ! Corruption in the place !
False justicer , why hast thou let her ’scape ?

King Lear


Go thrust him out at gates , and let him smell
His way to Dover .

How is ’t , my lord ? How look you ?

King Lear


There is a cliff , whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully in the confinèd deep .
Bring me but to the very brim of it ,
And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear
With something rich about me . From that place
I shall no leading need .

King Lear


Thou changèd and self-covered thing , for shame
Bemonster not thy feature . Were ’t my fitness
To let these hands obey my blood ,
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones . Howe’er thou art a fiend ,
A woman’s shape doth shield thee .

King Lear


I know your lady does not love her husband ;
I am sure of that ; and at her late being here ,
She gave strange eliads and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund . I know you are of her bosom .

King Lear


You do climb up it now . Look how we labor .

King Lear


Come on , sir . Here’s the place . Stand still . How
fearful
And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low !
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air
Show scarce so gross as beetles . Halfway down
Hangs one that gathers samphire — dreadful trade ;
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head .
The fishermen that walk upon the beach
Appear like mice , and yond tall anchoring bark
Diminished to her cock , her cock a buoy
Almost too small for sight . The murmuring surge
That on th’ unnumbered idle pebble chafes
Cannot be heard so high . I’ll look no more
Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong .

King Lear


From the dread summit of this chalky bourn .
Look up a-height . The shrill-gorged lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard . Do but look up .

King Lear

Nature’s above art in that respect . There’s your
press-money . That fellow handles his bow like a
crowkeeper . Draw me a clothier’s yard . Look , look ,
a mouse ! Peace , peace ! This piece of toasted cheese
will do ’t . There’s my gauntlet ; I’ll prove it on a
giant . Bring up the brown bills . O , well flown , bird !
I’ th’ clout , i’ th’ clout ! Hewgh ! Give the word .

King Lear

What , art mad ? A man may see how this world
goes with no eyes . Look with thine ears . See how
yond justice rails upon yond simple thief . Hark in
thine ear . Change places and , handy-dandy , which
is the justice , which is the thief ? Thou hast seen a
farmer’s dog bark at a beggar ?

King Lear

And the creature run from the cur ? There thou
might’st behold the great image of authority : a
dog’s obeyed in office .
Thou rascal beadle , hold thy bloody hand !
Why dost thou lash that whore ? Strip thy own back .
Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind
For which thou whipp’st her . The usurer hangs the
cozener .
Through tattered clothes small vices do appear .
Robes and furred gowns hide all . Plate sin with
gold ,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks .
Arm it in rags , a pygmy’s straw does pierce it .
None does offend , none , I say , none ; I’ll able ’em .
Take that of me , my friend , who have the power
To seal th’ accuser’s lips . Get thee glass eyes ,
And like a scurvy politician
Seem to see the things thou dost not . Now , now ,
now , now .
Pull off my boots . Harder , harder . So .

King Lear

O , look upon me , sir ,
And hold your hand in benediction o’er me .
No , sir , you must not kneel .

King Lear

Report is changeable . ’Tis time to look about .
The powers of the kingdom approach apace .

King Lear

The arbitrament is like to be bloody . Fare
you well , sir .

King Lear


I had rather lose the battle than that sister
Should loosen him and me .

King Lear


Why , fare thee well . I will o’erlook thy paper .

King Lear

Holla , holla !
That eye that told you so looked but asquint .

King Lear

Half-blooded fellow , yes .

King Lear

In wisdom I should ask thy name ,
But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike ,
And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes ,
What safe and nicely I might well delay
By rule of knighthood , I disdain and spurn .
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ,
With the hell-hated lie o’erwhelm thy heart ,
Which , for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise ,
This sword of mine shall give them instant way ,
Where they shall rest forever . Trumpets , speak !

King Lear

Let’s exchange charity .
I am no less in blood than thou art , Edmund ;
If more , the more th’ hast wronged me .
My name is Edgar and thy father’s son .
The gods are just , and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us .
The dark and vicious place where thee he got
Cost him his eyes .

King Lear


By nursing them , my lord . List a brief tale ,
And when ’tis told , O , that my heart would burst !
The bloody proclamation to escape
That followed me so near — O , our lives’ sweetness ,
That we the pain of death would hourly die
Rather than die at once ! — taught me to shift
Into a madman’s rags , t’ assume a semblance
That very dogs disdained , and in this habit
Met I my father with his bleeding rings ,
Their precious stones new lost ; became his guide ,
Led him , begged for him , saved him from despair .
Never — O fault ! — revealed myself unto him
Until some half hour past , when I was armed .
Not sure , though hoping of this good success ,
I asked his blessing , and from first to last
Told him our pilgrimage . But his flawed heart
( Alack , too weak the conflict to support )
’Twixt two extremes of passion , joy and grief ,
Burst smilingly .

King Lear

This speech of yours hath moved me ,
And shall perchance do good . But speak you on .
You look as you had something more to say .

King Lear

What means this bloody knife ?

King Lear


Howl , howl , howl ! O , you are men of stones !
Had I your tongues and eyes , I’d use them so
That heaven’s vault should crack . She’s gone
forever .
I know when one is dead and when one lives .
She’s dead as earth . — Lend me a looking glass .
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone ,
Why , then she lives .

King Lear


And my poor fool is hanged . No , no , no life ?
Why should a dog , a horse , a rat have life ,
And thou no breath at all ? Thou ’lt come no more ,
Never , never , never , never , never . —
Pray you undo this button . Thank you , sir .
Do you see this ? Look on her , look , her lips ,
Look there , look there !

King Lear

Look up , my lord .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Why , all delights are vain , and that most vain
Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain :
As painfully to pore upon a book
To seek the light of truth , while truth the while
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look .
Light seeking light doth light of light beguile .
So , ere you find where light in darkness lies ,
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes .
Study me how to please the eye indeed
By fixing it upon a fairer eye ,
Who dazzling so , that eye shall be his heed
And give him light that it was blinded by .
Study is like the heaven’s glorious sun ,
That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks .
Small have continual plodders ever won ,
Save base authority from others’ books .
These earthly godfathers of heaven’s lights ,
That give a name to every fixèd star ,
Have no more profit of their shining nights
Than those that walk and wot not what they are .
Too much to know is to know naught but fame ,
And every godfather can give a name .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

I myself reprehend his own person , for I am his
Grace’s farborough . But I would see his own
person in flesh and blood .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

This is not so well as I looked for , but the
best that ever I heard .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

A great sign , sir , that he will look sad .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

I do say thou art quick in answers . Thou
heat’st my blood .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

Let me not be pent up , sir . I will
fast being loose .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

No , sir , that were fast and loose . Thou shalt to
prison .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

Nay , nothing , Master Mote , but what they
look upon . It is not for prisoners to be too silent in
their words , and therefore I will say nothing . I thank
God I have as little patience as another man , and
therefore I can be quiet .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

Alack , let it blood .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Why , all his behaviors did make their retire
To the court of his eye , peeping thorough desire .
His heart like an agate with your print impressed ,
Proud with his form , in his eye pride expressed .
His tongue , all impatient to speak and not see ,
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be ;
All senses to that sense did make their repair ,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair .
Methought all his senses were locked in his eye ,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ,
Who , tend’ring their own worth from where they
were glassed ,
Did point you to buy them along as you passed .
His face’s own margent did quote such amazes
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes .
I’ll give you Aquitaine , and all that is his ,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


The boy hath sold him a bargain — a goose , that’s
flat . —
Sir , your pennyworth is good , an your goose be fat .
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and
loose .
Let me see : a fat l’envoi — ay , that’s a fat goose .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

True , true ; and now you will be my purgation ,
and let me loose .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


My sweet ounce of man’s flesh , my incony Jew !
Now will I look to his remuneration . Remuneration ! O , that’s the Latin word for
three farthings . Three farthings — remuneration .
What’s the price of this inkle ? One penny . No ,
I’ll give you a remuneration . Why , it carries it !
Remuneration . Why , it is a fairer name than French
crown . I will never buy and sell out of this word .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

Gardon . O sweet
gardon ! Better than remuneration , a ’levenpence
farthing better ! Most sweet gardon . I will do it , sir ,
in print . Gardon ! Remuneration !

Love’s Labor’s Lost


See , see , my beauty will be saved by merit .
O heresy in fair , fit for these days !
A giving hand , though foul , shall have fair praise .
But come , the bow . Now
mercy goes to kill ,
And shooting well is then accounted ill .
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot :
Not wounding , pity would not let me do ’t ;
If wounding , then it was to show my skill ,
That more for praise than purpose meant to kill .
And out of question so it is sometimes :
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes ,
When for fame’s sake , for praise , an outward part ,
We bend to that the working of the heart ;
As I for praise alone now seek to spill
The poor deer’s blood , that my heart means no ill .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

The deer was , as you know , sanguis , in
blood , ripe as the pomewater , who now hangeth
like a jewel in the ear of caelo , the sky , the welkin ,
the heaven , and anon falleth like a crab on the face
of terra , the soil , the land , the earth .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

Twice-sod simplicity , bis coctus !
O thou monster ignorance , how deformed dost thou
look !

Love’s Labor’s Lost

If a talent be a claw , look how he claws
him with a talent .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Facile precor gelida quando peccas omnia sub umbra .
Ruminat —
and so forth . Ah , good old Mantuan ! I may speak of
thee as the traveler doth of Venice :
Venetia , Venetia ,
Chi non ti vede , non ti pretia .
Old Mantuan , old Mantuan ! Who understandeth
thee not , loves thee not . Ut , re , sol , la ,
mi , fa . Under pardon , sir , what are
the contents ? Or rather , as Horace says in his —
What , my soul , verses ?

Love’s Labor’s Lost

I will overglance the superscript : To
the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady
Rosaline . I will look again on the intellect of the
letter for the nomination of the party writing to
the person written unto : Your Ladyship’s in all
desired employment , Berowne . Sir Nathaniel , this
Berowne is one of the votaries with the King , and
here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the
stranger queen’s : which accidentally , or by the way
of progression , hath miscarried .
Trip and go , my sweet . Deliver this paper into the
royal hand of the King . It may concern much . Stay
not thy compliment . I forgive thy duty . Adieu .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


I would forget her , but a fever she
Reigns in my blood , and will remembered be .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


A fever in your blood ? Why , then incision
Would let her out in saucers ! Sweet misprision .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Dumaine , thy love is far from charity ,
That in love’s grief desir’st society .
You may look pale , but I should blush , I know ,
To be o’er-heard and taken napping so .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Sweet lords , sweet lovers , O , let us embrace .
As true we are as flesh and blood can be .
The sea will ebb and flow , heaven show his face ;
Young blood doth not obey an old decree .
We cannot cross the cause why we were born ;
Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Did they , quoth you ? Who sees the heavenly
Rosaline
That , like a rude and savage man of Ind
At the first op’ning of the gorgeous East ,
Bows not his vassal head and , strucken blind ,
Kisses the base ground with obedient breast ?
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow
That is not blinded by her majesty ?

Love’s Labor’s Lost


My eyes are then no eyes , nor I Berowne .
O , but for my love , day would turn to night !
Of all complexions the culled sovereignty
Do meet as at a fair in her fair cheek .
Where several worthies make one dignity ,
Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek .
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues —
Fie , painted rhetoric ! O , she needs it not !
To things of sale a seller’s praise belongs .
She passes praise . Then praise too short doth blot .
A withered hermit , fivescore winters worn ,
Might shake off fifty , looking in her eye .
Beauty doth varnish age , as if newborn ,
And gives the crutch the cradle’s infancy .
O , ’tis the sun that maketh all things shine !

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Is ebony like her ? O word divine !
A wife of such wood were felicity .
O , who can give an oath ? Where is a book ,
That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack
If that she learn not of her eye to look ?
No face is fair that is not full so black .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Devils soonest tempt , resembling spirits of light .
O , if in black my lady’s brows be decked ,
It mourns that painting and usurping hair
Should ravish doters with a false aspect :
And therefore is she born to make black fair .
Her favor turns the fashion of the days ,
For native blood is counted painting now .
And therefore red , that would avoid dispraise ,
Paints itself black to imitate her brow .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


To look like her are chimney-sweepers black .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Look , here’s thy love ; my foot and her face see .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Sweethearts , we shall be rich ere we depart ,
If fairings come thus plentifully in .
A lady walled about with diamonds !
Look you what I have from the loving king .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Look what you do , you do it still i’ th’ dark .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


The blood of youth burns not with such excess
As gravity’s revolt to wantonness .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Look how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks .
Will you give horns , chaste lady ? Do not so .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Amazed , my lord ? Why looks your Highness sad ?

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Help , hold his brows ! He’ll swoon ! — Why look you
pale ?
Seasick , I think , coming from Muscovy .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

O sir , you have overthrown
Alisander the Conqueror . You will be scraped out of
the painted cloth for this . Your lion , that holds his
polax sitting on a close-stool , will be given to Ajax .
He will be the ninth Worthy . A conqueror , and
afeard to speak ? Run away for shame , Alisander .

There , an ’t shall please you , a foolish mild man , an
honest man , look you , and soon dashed . He is a
marvelous good neighbor , faith , and a very good
bowler . But , for Alisander — alas , you see how ’tis —
a little o’erparted . But there are Worthies a-coming
will speak their mind in some other sort .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

Ay , if he have no more man’s blood in his
belly than will sup a flea .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

Sweet bloods , I both may and will .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


The extreme parts of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed ,
And often at his very loose decides
That which long process could not arbitrate .
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince ,
Yet since love’s argument was first on foot ,
Let not the cloud of sorrow jostle it
From what it purposed , since to wail friends lost
Is not by much so wholesome-profitable
As to rejoice at friends but newly found .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief ,
And by these badges understand the King :
For your fair sakes have we neglected time ,
Played foul play with our oaths . Your beauty , ladies ,
Hath much deformed us , fashioning our humors
Even to the opposèd end of our intents .
And what in us hath seemed ridiculous —
As love is full of unbefitting strains ,
All wanton as a child , skipping and vain ,
Formed by the eye and therefore , like the eye ,
Full of strange shapes , of habits , and of forms ,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance ;
Which parti-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us , if , in your heavenly eyes ,
Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities ,
Those heavenly eyes , that look into these faults ,
Suggested us to make . Therefore , ladies ,
Our love being yours , the error that love makes
Is likewise yours . We to ourselves prove false
By being once false forever to be true
To those that make us both — fair ladies , you .
And even that falsehood , in itself a sin ,
Thus purifies itself and turns to grace .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


So did our looks .

Love’s Labor’s Lost

A time , methinks , too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in .
No , no , my lord , your Grace is perjured much ,
Full of dear guiltiness , and therefore this :
If for my love — as there is no such cause —
You will do aught , this shall you do for me :
Your oath I will not trust , but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage ,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world .
There stay until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about the annual reckoning .
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood ;
If frosts and fasts , hard lodging , and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love ,
But that it bear this trial , and last love ;
Then , at the expiration of the year ,
Come challenge me , challenge me by these deserts ,

And by this virgin palm now kissing thine ,
I will be thine . And till that instant shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house ,
Raining the tears of lamentation
For the remembrance of my father’s death .
If this thou do deny , let our hands part ,
Neither entitled in the other’s heart .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Studies my lady ? Mistress , look on me .
Behold the window of my heart , mine eye ,
What humble suit attends thy answer there .
Impose some service on me for thy love .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


Why , that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit ,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools .
A jest’s prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it , never in the tongue
Of him that makes it . Then if sickly ears ,
Deafed with the clamors of their own dear groans
Will hear your idle scorns , continue then ,
And I will have you and that fault withal .
But if they will not , throw away that spirit ,
And I shall find you empty of that fault ,
Right joyful of your reformation .

Love’s Labor’s Lost


When icicles hang by the wall ,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail ,
And Tom bears logs into the hall ,
And milk comes frozen home in pail ;
When blood is nipped , and ways be foul ,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whit to-who . A merry note ,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot .

When all aloud the wind doth blow ,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw ,
And birds sit brooding in the snow ,
And Marian’s nose looks red and raw ;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl ,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whit to-who . A merry note ,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot .

Macbeth


What bloody man is that ? He can report ,
As seemeth by his plight , of the revolt
The newest state .

Macbeth

Doubtful it stood ,
As two spent swimmers that do cling together
And choke their art . The merciless Macdonwald
( Worthy to be a rebel , for to that
The multiplying villainies of nature
Do swarm upon him ) from the Western Isles
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied ;
And Fortune , on his damnèd quarrel smiling ,
Showed like a rebel’s whore . But all’s too weak ;
For brave Macbeth ( well he deserves that name ) ,
Disdaining Fortune , with his brandished steel ,
Which smoked with bloody execution ,
Like Valor’s valor’s minion , carved out his passage
Till he faced the slave ;
Which ne’er shook hands , nor bade farewell to him ,
Till he unseamed him from the nave to th’ chops ,
And fixed his head upon our battlements .

Macbeth


What a haste looks through his eyes !
So should he look that seems to speak things
strange .

Macbeth


I myself have all the other ,
And the very ports they blow ; ,
All the quarters that they know
I’ th’ shipman’s card .
I’ll drain him dry as hay .
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his penthouse lid .
He shall live a man forbid .
Weary sev’nnights , nine times nine ,
Shall he dwindle , peak , and pine .
Though his bark cannot be lost ,
Yet it shall be tempest-tossed .
Look what I have .

Macbeth


How far is ’t called to Forres ? — What are these ,
So withered , and so wild in their attire ,
That look not like th’ inhabitants o’ th’ Earth earth
And yet are on ’t ? — Live you ? Or are you aught
That man may question ? You seem to understand
me
By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips . You should be women ,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so .

Macbeth


Good sir , why do you start and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair ? — I’ th’ name of truth ,
Are you fantastical , or that indeed
Which outwardly you show ? My noble partner
You greet with present grace and great prediction
Of noble having and of royal hope ,
That he seems rapt withal . To me you speak not .
If you can look into the seeds of time
And say which grain will grow and which will not ,
Speak , then , to me , who neither beg nor fear
Your favors nor your hate .

Macbeth

Look how our partner’s rapt .

Macbeth

Give him tending .
He brings great news .
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements . Come , you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts , unsex me here ,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty . Make thick my blood .
Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse ,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose , nor keep peace between
Th’ effect and it . Come to my woman’s breasts
And take my milk for gall , you murd’ring ministers ,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief . Come , thick night ,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry Hold , hold !



Great Glamis , worthy Cawdor ,
Greater than both by the all-hail hereafter !
Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present , and I feel now
The future in the instant .

Macbeth

O , never
Shall sun that morrow see !
Your face , my thane , is as a book where men
May read strange matters . To beguile the time ,
Look like the time . Bear welcome in your eye ,
Your hand , your tongue . Look like th’ innocent
flower ,
But be the serpent under ’t . He that’s coming
Must be provided for ; and you shall put
This night’s great business into my dispatch ,
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom .

Macbeth

Only look up clear .
To alter favor ever is to fear .
Leave all the rest to me .

Macbeth


If it were done when ’tis done , then ’twere well
It were done quickly . If th’ assassination
Could trammel up the consequence and catch
With his surcease success , that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here ,
But here , upon this bank and shoal of time ,
We’d jump the life to come . But in these cases
We still have judgment here , that we but teach
Bloody instructions , which , being taught , return
To plague th’ inventor . This even-handed justice
Commends th’ ingredience of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips . He’s here in double trust :
First , as I am his kinsman and his subject ,
Strong both against the deed ; then , as his host ,
Who should against his murderer shut the door ,
Not bear the knife myself . Besides , this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek , hath been
So clear in his great office , that his virtues
Will plead like angels , trumpet-tongued , against
The deep damnation of his taking-off ;
And pity , like a naked newborn babe
Striding the blast , or heaven’s cherubin horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air ,
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye ,
That tears shall drown the wind . I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent , but only
Vaulting ambition , which o’erleaps itself
And falls on th’ other —



How now , what news ?

Macbeth

Was the hope drunk
Wherein you dressed yourself ? Hath it slept since ?
And wakes it now , to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely ? From this time
Such I account thy love . Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valor
As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that
Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life
And live a coward in thine own esteem ,
Letting I dare not wait upon I would ,
Like the poor cat i’ th’ adage ?

Macbeth

Bring forth men-children only ,
For thy undaunted mettle should compose
Nothing but males . Will it not be received ,
When we have marked with blood those sleepy two
Of his own chamber and used their very daggers ,
That they have done ’t ?

Macbeth


Go bid thy mistress , when my drink is ready ,
She strike upon the bell . Get thee to bed .

Is this a dagger which I see before me ,
The handle toward my hand ? Come , let me clutch
thee .
I have thee not , and yet I see thee still .
Art thou not , fatal vision , sensible
To feeling as to sight ? Or art thou but
A dagger of the mind , a false creation
Proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain ?
I see thee yet , in form as palpable
As this which now I draw .
Thou marshal’st me the way that I was going ,
And such an instrument I was to use .
Mine eyes are made the fools o’ th’ other senses
Or else worth all the rest . I see thee still ,
And , on thy blade and dudgeon , gouts of blood ,
Which was not so before . There’s no such thing .
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes . Now o’er the one-half world
Nature seems dead , and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep . Witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate’s off’rings , and withered murder ,
Alarumed by his sentinel , the wolf ,
Whose howl’s his watch , thus with his stealthy pace ,
With Tarquin’s ravishing strides , towards his
design
Moves like a ghost . Thou sure and firm-set earth ,
Hear not my steps , which way they walk , for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabouts
And take the present horror from the time ,
Which now suits with it . Whiles I threat , he lives .
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives .

I go , and it is done . The bell invites me .
Hear it not , Duncan , for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell .

Macbeth


Alack , I am afraid they have awaked ,
And ’tis not done . Th’ attempt and not the deed
Confounds us . Hark ! — I laid their daggers ready ;
He could not miss ’em . Had he not resembled
My father as he slept , I had done ’t .



My husband ?

Macbeth


Who was it that thus cried ? Why , worthy thane ,
You do unbend your noble strength to think
So brainsickly of things . Go get some water
And wash this filthy witness from your hand . —
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ?
They must lie there . Go , carry them and smear
The sleepy grooms with blood .

Macbeth

I’ll go no more .
I am afraid to think what I have done .
Look on ’t again I dare not .

Macbeth

Whence is that
knocking ?
How is ’t with me when every noise appalls me ?
What hands are here ! Ha , they pluck out mine eyes .
Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand ? No , this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine ,
Making the green one red .

Macbeth


Approach the chamber and destroy your sight
With a new Gorgon . Do not bid me speak .
See and then speak yourselves .

Awake , awake !
Ring the alarum bell . — Murder and treason !
Banquo and Donalbain , Malcolm , awake !
Shake off this downy sleep , death’s counterfeit ,
And look on death itself . Up , up , and see
The great doom’s image . Malcolm , Banquo ,
As from your graves rise up and walk like sprites
To countenance this horror . — Ring the bell .

Macbeth

You are , and do not know ’t .
The spring , the head , the fountain of your blood
Is stopped ; the very source of it is stopped .

Macbeth


Those of his chamber , as it seemed , had done ’t .
Their hands and faces were all badged with blood .
So were their daggers , which unwiped we found
Upon their pillows . They stared and were distracted .
No man’s life was to be trusted with them .

Macbeth


Who can be wise , amazed , temp’rate , and furious ,
Loyal , and neutral , in a moment ? No man .
Th’ expedition of my violent love
Outrun the pauser , reason . Here lay Duncan ,
His silver skin laced with his golden blood ,
And his gashed stabs looked like a breach in nature
For ruin’s wasteful entrance ; there the murderers ,
Steeped in the colors of their trade , their daggers
Unmannerly breeched with gore . Who could refrain
That had a heart to love , and in that heart
Courage to make ’s love known ?

Macbeth


Look to the lady .

Macbeth

Look to the lady .

And when we have our naked frailties hid ,
That suffer in exposure , let us meet
And question this most bloody piece of work
To know it further . Fears and scruples shake us .
In the great hand of God I stand , and thence
Against the undivulged pretense I fight
Of treasonous malice .

Macbeth


To Ireland I . Our separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer . Where we are ,
There’s daggers in men’s smiles . The near in blood ,
The nearer bloody .

Macbeth

Ha , good father ,
Thou seest the heavens , as troubled with man’s act ,
Threatens his bloody stage . By th’ clock ’tis day ,
And yet dark night strangles the traveling lamp .
Is ’t night’s predominance or the day’s shame
That darkness does the face of earth entomb
When living light should kiss it ?

Macbeth


They did so , to th’ amazement of mine eyes
That looked upon ’t .



Here comes the good
Macduff . —
How goes the world , sir , now ?

Macbeth


Is ’t known who did this more than bloody deed ?

Macbeth


We hear our bloody cousins are bestowed
In England and in Ireland , not confessing
Their cruel parricide , filling their hearers
With strange invention . But of that tomorrow ,
When therewithal we shall have cause of state
Craving us jointly . Hie you to horse . Adieu ,
Till you return at night . Goes Fleance with you ?

Macbeth


So is he mine , and in such bloody distance
That every minute of his being thrusts
Against my near’st of life . And though I could
With barefaced power sweep him from my sight
And bid my will avouch it , yet I must not ,
For certain friends that are both his and mine ,
Whose loves I may not drop , but wail his fall
Who I myself struck down . And thence it is
That I to your assistance do make love ,
Masking the business from the common eye
For sundry weighty reasons .

Macbeth

Come on , gentle my lord ,
Sleek o’er your rugged looks . Be bright and jovial
Among your guests tonight .

Macbeth


Be innocent of the knowledge , dearest chuck ,
Till thou applaud the deed . — Come , seeling night ,
Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day
And with thy bloody and invisible hand
Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond
Which keeps me pale . Light thickens , and the crow
Makes wing to th’ rooky wood .
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ,
Whiles night’s black agents to their preys do
rouse . —
Thou marvel’st at my words , but hold thee still .
Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill .
So prithee go with me .

Macbeth


See , they encounter thee with their hearts’ thanks .
Both sides are even . Here I’ll sit i’ th’ midst .
Be large in mirth . Anon we’ll drink a measure
The table round . There’s
blood upon thy face .

Macbeth


Ay , and a bold one , that dare look on that
Which might appall the devil .

Macbeth

O , proper stuff !
This is the very painting of your fear .
This is the air-drawn dagger which you said
Led you to Duncan . O , these flaws and starts ,
Impostors to true fear , would well become
A woman’s story at a winter’s fire ,
Authorized by her grandam . Shame itself !
Why do you make such faces ? When all’s done ,
You look but on a stool .

Macbeth


Prithee , see there . Behold , look ! Lo ,
how say you ?
Why , what care I ? If thou canst nod , speak too . —
If charnel houses and our graves must send
Those that we bury back , our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites .

Macbeth


Blood hath been shed ere now , i’ th’ olden time ,
Ere humane statute purged the gentle weal ;
Ay , and since too , murders have been performed
Too terrible for the ear . The time has been
That , when the brains were out , the man would die ,
And there an end . But now they rise again
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns
And push us from our stools . This is more strange
Than such a murder is .

Macbeth


Avaunt , and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee .
Thy bones are marrowless ; thy blood is cold ;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with .

Macbeth


It will have blood , they say ; blood will have blood .
Stones have been known to move , and trees to
speak . ;
Augurs and understood relations have
By maggot pies and choughs and rooks brought
forth
The secret’st man of blood . — What is the night ?

Macbeth


I hear it by the way ; but I will send .
There’s not a one of them but in his house
I keep a servant fee’d . I will tomorrow
( And betimes I will ) to the Weïrd Sisters .
More shall they speak , for now I am bent to know
By the worst means the worst . For mine own good ,
All causes shall give way . I am in blood
Stepped in so far that , should I wade no more ,
Returning were as tedious as go o’er .
Strange things I have in head , that will to hand ,
Which must be acted ere they may be scanned .

Macbeth


Why , how now , Hecate ? You look angerly .

Macbeth

The son of Duncan
( From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth )
Lives in the English court and is received
Of the most pious Edward with such grace
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect . Thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the holy king upon his aid
To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward
That , by the help of these ( with Him above
To ratify the work ) , we may again
Give to our tables meat , sleep to our nights ,
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives ,
Do faithful homage , and receive free honors ,
All which we pine for now . And this report
Hath so exasperate the King that he
Prepares for some attempt of war .

Macbeth


Cool it with a baboon’s blood .
Then the charm is firm and good .

Macbeth


Pour in sow’s blood that hath eaten
Her nine farrow ; grease that’s sweaten
From the murderers’ gibbet throw
Into the flame .

Macbeth


Be bloody , bold , and resolute . Laugh to scorn
The power of man , for none of woman born
Shall harm Macbeth .

Macbeth


Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo . Down !
Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs . And thy hair ,
Thou other gold-bound brow , is like the first .
A third is like the former . — Filthy hags ,
Why do you show me this ? — A fourth ? Start , eyes !
What , will the line stretch out to th’ crack of doom ?
Another yet ? A seventh ? I’ll see no more .
And yet the eighth appears who bears a glass
Which shows me many more , and some I see
That twofold balls and treble scepters carry .
Horrible sight ! Now I see ’tis true ,
For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles upon me
And points at them for his .

What , is this so ?

Macbeth

But Macbeth is .
A good and virtuous nature may recoil
In an imperial charge . But I shall crave your
pardon .
That which you are , my thoughts cannot transpose .
Angels are bright still , though the brightest fell .
Though all things foul would wear the brows of
grace ,
Yet grace must still look so .

Macbeth

I grant him bloody ,
Luxurious , avaricious , false , deceitful ,
Sudden , malicious , smacking of every sin
That has a name . But there’s no bottom , none ,
In my voluptuousness . Your wives , your daughters ,
Your matrons , and your maids could not fill up
The cistern of my lust , and my desire
All continent impediments would o’erbear
That did oppose my will . Better Macbeth
Than such an one to reign .

Macbeth

Fit to govern ?
No , not to live . — O nation miserable ,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptered ,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again ,
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accursed
And does blaspheme his breed ? — Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king . The queen that bore thee ,
Oft’ner upon her knees than on her feet ,
Died every day she lived . Fare thee well .
These evils thou repeat’st upon thyself
Hath banished me from Scotland . — O my breast ,
Thy hope ends here !

Macbeth

I shall do so ,
But I must also feel it as a man .
I cannot but remember such things were
That were most precious to me . Did heaven look on
And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff ,
They were all struck for thee ! Naught that I am ,
Not for their own demerits , but for mine ,
Fell slaughter on their souls . Heaven rest them now .

Macbeth

What is it she does now ? Look how she rubs
her hands .

Macbeth

Out , damned spot , out , I say ! One . Two .
Why then , ’tis time to do ’t . Hell is murky . Fie , my
lord , fie , a soldier and afeard ? What need we fear
who knows it , when none can call our power to
account ? Yet who would have thought the old man
to have had so much blood in him ?

Macbeth

Here’s the smell of the blood still . All
the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little
hand . O , O , O !

Macbeth

Wash your hands . Put on your nightgown .
Look not so pale . I tell you yet again , Banquo’s
buried ; he cannot come out on ’s grave .

Macbeth


Foul whisp’rings are abroad . Unnatural deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles . Infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets .
More needs she the divine than the physician .
God , God forgive us all . Look after her .
Remove from her the means of all annoyance
And still keep eyes upon her . So , good night .
My mind she has mated , and amazed my sight .
I think but dare not speak .

Macbeth

Now does he feel
His secret murders sticking on his hands .
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach .
Those he commands move only in command ,
Nothing in love . Now does he feel his title
Hang loose about him , like a giant’s robe
Upon a dwarfish thief .

Macbeth


Bring me no more reports . Let them fly all .
Till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane
I cannot taint with fear . What’s the boy Malcolm ?
Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that know
All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus :
Fear not , Macbeth . No man that’s born of woman
Shall e’er have power upon thee . Then fly , false
thanes ,
And mingle with the English epicures .
The mind I sway by and the heart I bear
Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear .



The devil damn thee black , thou cream-faced loon !
Where got’st thou that goose-look ?

Macbeth


Take thy face hence .
Seyton ! — I am sick at heart
When I behold — Seyton , I say ! — This push
Will cheer me ever or disseat me now .
I have lived long enough . My way of life
Is fall’n into the sere , the yellow leaf ,
And that which should accompany old age ,
As honor , love , obedience , troops of friends ,
I must not look to have , but in their stead
Curses , not loud but deep , mouth-honor , breath
Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare
not . —
Seyton !

Macbeth


As I did stand my watch upon the hill ,
I looked toward Birnam , and anon methought
The Wood wood began to move .

Macbeth


Make all our trumpets speak ; give them all breath ,
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death .

Macbeth


Of all men else I have avoided thee .
But get thee back . My soul is too much charged
With blood of thine already .

Macbeth

I have no words ;
My voice is in my sword , thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out .

Measure for Measure

Look where he comes .

Measure for Measure

No more evasion .
We have with a leavened and preparèd choice
Proceeded to you . Therefore , take your honors .
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition
That it prefers itself and leaves unquestioned
Matters of needful value . We shall write to you ,
As time and our concernings shall importune ,
How it goes with us , and do look to know
What doth befall you here . So fare you well .
To th’ hopeful execution do I leave you
Of your commissions .

Measure for Measure


I shall desire you , sir , to give me leave
To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me
To look into the bottom of my place .
A power I have , but of what strength and nature
I am not yet instructed .

Measure for Measure

A hundred , if they’ll do you any good . Is lechery
so looked after ?

Measure for Measure

It rested in your Grace
To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased ,
And it in you more dreadful would have seemed
Than in Lord Angelo .

Measure for Measure

I do fear , too dreadful .
Sith ’twas my fault to give the people scope ,
’Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them
For what I bid them do ; for we bid this be done
When evil deeds have their permissive pass
And not the punishment . Therefore , indeed , my
father ,
I have on Angelo imposed the office ,
Who may in th’ ambush of my name strike home ,
And yet my nature never in the fight
To do in slander . And to behold his sway
I will , as ’twere a brother of your order ,
Visit both prince and people . Therefore I prithee
Supply me with the habit , and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear
Like a true friar . More reasons for this action
At our more leisure shall I render you .
Only this one : Lord Angelo is precise ,
Stands at a guard with envy , scarce confesses
That his blood flows or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone . Hence shall we see ,
If power change purpose , what our seemers be .

Measure for Measure

This is the point .
The Duke is very strangely gone from hence ;
Bore many gentlemen , myself being one ,
In hand , and hope of action ; but we do learn ,
By those that know the very nerves of state ,
His givings-out were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design . Upon his place ,
And with full line of his authority ,
Governs Lord Angelo , a man whose blood
Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense ,
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
With profits of the mind : study and fast .
He — to give fear to use and liberty ,
Which have for long run by the hideous law
As mice by lions — hath picked out an act
Under whose heavy sense your brother’s life
Falls into forfeit . He arrests him on it ,
And follows close the rigor of the statute
To make him an example . All hope is gone
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
To soften Angelo . And that’s my pith of business
’Twixt you and your poor brother .

Measure for Measure

Ay , but yet
Let us be keen and rather cut a little
Than fall and bruise to death . Alas , this gentleman
Whom I would save had a most noble father .
Let but your Honor know ,
Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue ,
That , in the working of your own affections ,
Had time cohered with place , or place with wishing ,
Or that the resolute acting of your blood
Could have attained th’ effect of your own purpose ,
Whether you had not sometime in your life
Erred in this point which now you censure him ,
And pulled the law upon you .

Measure for Measure

Sir , but you shall come to it , by your Honor’s
leave . And I beseech you , look into Master Froth
here , sir , a man of fourscore pound a year , whose
father died at Hallowmas — was ’t not at Hallowmas ,
Master Froth ?

Measure for Measure

I beseech you , sir , look in this gentleman’s
face . — Good Master Froth , look upon his Honor .
’Tis for a good purpose . — Doth your Honor mark
his face ?

Measure for Measure

Look you bring me in the names of some six
or seven , the most sufficient of your parish .

Measure for Measure

It is but needful .
Mercy is not itself that oft looks so .
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe .
But yet , poor Claudio . There is no remedy .
Come , sir .

Measure for Measure


Look what I will not , that I cannot do .

Measure for Measure


The law hath not been dead , though it hath slept .
Those many had not dared to do that evil
If the first that did th’ edict infringe
Had answered for his deed . Now ’tis awake ,
Takes note of what is done , and , like a prophet ,
Looks in a glass that shows what future evils —
Either now , or by remissness new-conceived ,
And so in progress to be hatched and born —
Are now to have no successive degrees
But , ere they live , to end .

Measure for Measure


I would do more than that if more were needful .



Look , here comes one , a gentlewoman of mine ,
Who , falling in the flaws of her own youth ,
Hath blistered her report . She is with child ,
And he that got it , sentenced — a young man ,
More fit to do another such offense
Than die for this .

Measure for Measure


When I would pray and think , I think and pray
To several subjects . Heaven hath my empty words ,
Whilst my invention , hearing not my tongue ,
Anchors on Isabel . God in my mouth ,
As if I did but only chew His name ,
And in my heart the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception . The state whereon I studied
Is , like a good thing being often read ,
Grown sere and tedious . Yea , my gravity ,
Wherein — let no man hear me — I take pride ,
Could I with boot change for an idle plume
Which the air beats for vain . O place , O form ,
How often dost thou with thy case , thy habit ,
Wrench awe from fools , and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming ! Blood , thou art blood .
Let’s write good angel on the devil’s horn .
’Tis not the devil’s crest . How now ,
who’s there ?

Measure for Measure


Teach her the way . O heavens ,
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart ,
Making both it unable for itself
And dispossessing all my other parts
Of necessary fitness ?
So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons ,
Come all to help him , and so stop the air
By which he should revive . And even so
The general subject to a well-wished king
Quit their own part , and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence , where their untaught love
Must needs appear offense .



How now , fair maid ?

Measure for Measure


Ha ! Little honor to be much believed ,
And most pernicious purpose . Seeming , seeming !
I will proclaim thee , Angelo , look for ’t .
Sign me a present pardon for my brother
Or with an outstretched throat I’ll tell the world
aloud
What man thou art .

Measure for Measure


To whom should I complain ? Did I tell this ,
Who would believe me ? O , perilous mouths ,
That bear in them one and the selfsame tongue ,
Either of condemnation or approof ,
Bidding the law make curtsy to their will ,
Hooking both right and wrong to th’ appetite ,
To follow as it draws . I’ll to my brother .
Though he hath fall’n by prompture of the blood ,
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honor
That , had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks , he’d yield them up
Before his sister should her body stoop
To such abhorred pollution .
Then , Isabel , live chaste , and , brother , die .
More than our brother is our chastity .
I’ll tell him yet of Angelo’s request ,
And fit his mind to death , for his soul’s rest .

Measure for Measure


And very welcome . — Look , signior , here’s your
sister .

Measure for Measure


Ay , but to die , and go we know not where ,
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot ,
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods , or to reside
In thrilling region of thick-ribbèd ice ,
To be imprisoned in the viewless winds
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst
Of those that lawless and incertain thought
Imagine howling — ’tis too horrible .
The weariest and most loathèd worldly life
That age , ache , penury , and imprisonment
Can lay on nature is a paradise
To what we fear of death .

Measure for Measure

O , you beast !
O faithless coward , O dishonest wretch ,
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice ?
Is ’t not a kind of incest to take life
From thine own sister’s shame ? What should I think ?
Heaven shield my mother played my father fair ,
For such a warpèd slip of wilderness
Ne’er issued from his blood . Take my defiance ;
Die , perish . Might but my bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate , it should proceed .
I’ll pray a thousand prayers for thy death ,
No word to save thee .

Measure for Measure

Pray , sir , by your good favor — for surely , sir , a
good favor you have , but that you have a hanging
look — do you call , sir , your occupation a mystery ?

Measure for Measure


Call hither Barnardine and Claudio .

Th’ one has my pity ; not a jot the other ,
Being a murderer , though he were my brother .



Look , here’s the warrant , Claudio , for thy death .
’Tis now dead midnight , and by eight tomorrow
Thou must be made immortal . Where’s Barnardine ?

Measure for Measure

Not a resemblance , but a certainty ; yet
since I see you fearful , that neither my coat , integrity ,
nor persuasion can with ease attempt you , I will
go further than I meant , to pluck all fears out of
you . Look you , sir , here is the hand and seal of the
Duke . You know the
character , I doubt not , and the signet is not strange
to you .

Measure for Measure

The contents of this is the return of the
Duke ; you shall anon overread it at your pleasure ,
where you shall find within these two days he will
be here . This is a thing that Angelo knows not , for
he this very day receives letters of strange tenor ,
perchance of the Duke’s death , perchance entering
into some monastery , but by chance nothing of
what is writ . Look , th’ unfolding star calls up the
shepherd . Put not yourself into amazement how
these things should be . All difficulties are but easy
when they are known . Call your executioner , and
off with Barnardine’s head . I will give him a present
shrift , and advise him for a better place . Yet you are
amazed , but this shall absolutely resolve you .

Come away ; it is almost clear dawn .

Measure for Measure

Truly , sir , I would desire you to clap into
your prayers , for , look you , the warrant’s come .

Measure for Measure

Look you , sir , here comes
your ghostly father . Do we jest now , think you ?

Measure for Measure

O , sir , you must . And therefore I
beseech you look forward on the journey you shall
go .

Measure for Measure


My husband bids me . Now I will unmask .

This is that face , thou cruel Angelo ,
Which once thou swor’st was worth the looking on .
This is the hand which , with a vowed contract ,
Was fast belocked in thine . This is the body
That took away the match from Isabel
And did supply thee at thy garden house
In her imagined person .

Measure for Measure


The Duke’s in us , and we will hear you speak .
Look you speak justly .

Measure for Measure

Be not so hot . The Duke
Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he
Dare rack his own . His subject am I not ,
Nor here provincial . My business in this state
Made me a looker-on here in Vienna ,
Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble
Till it o’errun the stew . Laws for all faults ,
But faults so countenanced that the strong statutes
Stand like the forfeits in a barber’s shop ,
As much in mock as mark .

Measure for Measure

O my dread lord ,
I should be guiltier than my guiltiness
To think I can be undiscernible ,
When I perceive your Grace , like power divine ,
Hath looked upon my passes . Then , good prince ,
No longer session hold upon my shame ,
But let my trial be mine own confession .
Immediate sentence then and sequent death
Is all the grace I beg .

Measure for Measure

Most bounteous sir ,
Look , if it please you , on this man condemned
As if my brother lived . I partly think
A due sincerity governed his deeds
Till he did look on me . Since it is so ,
Let him not die . My brother had but justice ,
In that he did the thing for which he died .
For Angelo ,
His act did not o’ertake his bad intent ,
And must be buried but as an intent
That perished by the way . Thoughts are no subjects ,
Intents but merely thoughts .

Measure for Measure


I would thou hadst done so by Claudio .
Go fetch him hither . Let me look upon him .

Measure for Measure


I am sorry one so learnèd and so wise
As you , Lord Angelo , have still appeared ,
Should slip so grossly , both in the heat of blood
And lack of tempered judgment afterward .

Measure for Measure


If he be like your brother , for his sake
Is he pardoned ; and for your lovely sake ,
Give me your hand and say you will be mine ,
He is my brother too . But fitter time for that .
By this Lord Angelo perceives he’s safe ;
Methinks I see a quick’ning in his eye . —
Well , Angelo , your evil quits you well .
Look that you love your wife , her worth worth
yours .
I find an apt remission in myself .
And yet here’s one in place I cannot pardon .
You , sirrah , that knew me for a fool , a
coward ,
One all of luxury , an ass , a madman .
Wherein have I so deserved of you
That you extol me thus ?

Measure for Measure

Slandering a prince deserves it .

She , Claudio , that you wronged , look you restore . —
Joy to you , Mariana . — Love her , Angelo .
I have confessed her , and I know her virtue . —
Thanks , good friend Escalus , for thy much goodness .
There’s more behind that is more gratulate . —
Thanks , provost , for thy care and secrecy .
We shall employ thee in a worthier place . —
Forgive him , Angelo , that brought you home
The head of Ragozine for Claudio’s .
Th’ offense pardons itself . — Dear Isabel ,
I have a motion much imports your good ,
Whereto if you’ll a willing ear incline ,
What’s mine is yours , and what is yours is mine . —
So , bring us to our palace , where we’ll show
What’s yet behind that’s meet you all should know .

Much Ado About Nothing

A dear happiness to women . They would
else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor . I
thank God and my cold blood I am of your humor
for that . I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow
than a man swear he loves me .

Much Ado About Nothing

I noted her not , but I looked on her .

Much Ado About Nothing

In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever
I looked on .

Much Ado About Nothing

Is ’t come to this ? In faith , hath not the
world one man but he will wear his cap with
suspicion ? Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore
again ? Go to , i’ faith , an thou wilt needs thrust
thy neck into a yoke , wear the print of it , and sigh
away Sundays . Look , Don Pedro is returned to seek
you .

Much Ado About Nothing

I shall see thee , ere I die , look pale with love .

Much Ado About Nothing

With anger , with sickness , or with hunger ,
my lord , not with love . Prove that ever I lose more
blood with love than I will get again with drinking ,
pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen and
hang me up at the door of a brothel house for the
sign of blind Cupid .

Much Ado About Nothing

I look for an earthquake too , then .

Much Ado About Nothing

O , my lord ,
When you went onward on this ended action ,
I looked upon her with a soldier’s eye ,
That liked , but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the name of love .
But now I am returned and that war thoughts
Have left their places vacant , in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires ,
All prompting me how fair young Hero is ,
Saying I liked her ere I went to wars .

Much Ado About Nothing


What need the bridge much broader than the flood ?
The fairest grant is the necessity .
Look what will serve is fit . ’Tis once , thou lovest ,
And I will fit thee with the remedy .
I know we shall have reveling tonight .
I will assume thy part in some disguise
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ,
And in her bosom I’ll unclasp my heart
And take her hearing prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale .
Then after to her father will I break ,
And the conclusion is , she shall be thine .
In practice let us put it presently .

Much Ado About Nothing

I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a
rose in his grace , and it better fits my blood to be
disdained of all than to fashion a carriage to rob
love from any . In this , though I cannot be said to be
a flattering honest man , it must not be denied but I
am a plain-dealing villain . I am trusted with a
muzzle and enfranchised with a clog ; therefore I
have decreed not to sing in my cage . If I had my
mouth , I would bite ; if I had my liberty , I would do
my liking . In the meantime , let me be that I am , and
seek not to alter me .

Much Ado About Nothing

A proper squire . And who , and who ? Which
way looks he ?

Much Ado About Nothing

How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never
can see him but I am heartburned an hour after .

Much Ado About Nothing

So you walk softly , and look sweetly , and say
nothing , I am yours for the walk , and especially
when I walk away .

Much Ado About Nothing


Thus answer I in name of Benedick ,
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio .
’Tis certain so . The Prince woos for himself .
Friendship is constant in all other things
Save in the office and affairs of love .
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues .
Let every eye negotiate for itself
And trust no agent , for beauty is a witch
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood .
This is an accident of hourly proof ,
Which I mistrusted not . Farewell therefore , Hero .

Much Ado About Nothing

Look , here she comes .

Much Ado About Nothing

Niece , will you look to those things I told
you of ?

Much Ado About Nothing

I can , at any unseasonable instant of the
night , appoint her to look out at her lady’s chamber
window .

Much Ado About Nothing

Proof enough to misuse the Prince , to vex
Claudio , to undo Hero , and kill Leonato . Look you
for any other issue ?

Much Ado About Nothing

I know that , but I would have thee hence
and here again .
I do much wonder that one man , seeing how much
another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviors
to love , will , after he hath laughed at such
shallow follies in others , become the argument of
his own scorn by falling in love — and such a man is
Claudio . I have known when there was no music
with him but the drum and the fife , and now had he
rather hear the tabor and the pipe ; I have known
when he would have walked ten mile afoot to see a
good armor , and now will he lie ten nights awake
carving the fashion of a new doublet . He was wont
to speak plain and to the purpose , like an honest
man and a soldier , and now is he turned orthography ;
his words are a very fantastical banquet , just so
many strange dishes . May I be so converted and see
with these eyes ? I cannot tell ; I think not . I will not
be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster ,
but I’ll take my oath on it , till he have made an
oyster of me , he shall never make me such a fool .
One woman is fair , yet I am well ; another is wise , yet
I am well ; another virtuous , yet I am well ; but till all
graces be in one woman , one woman shall not
come in my grace . Rich she shall be , that’s certain ;
wise , or I’ll none ; virtuous , or I’ll never cheapen
her ; fair , or I’ll never look on her ; mild , or come not
near me ; noble , or not I for an angel ; of good
discourse , an excellent musician , and her hair shall
be of what color it please God . Ha ! The Prince and
Monsieur Love ! I will hide me in the arbor .

Much Ado About Nothing

O , my lord , wisdom and blood combating in
so tender a body , we have ten proofs to one that
blood hath the victory . I am sorry for her , as I have
just cause , being her uncle and her guardian .

Much Ado About Nothing


Now , Ursula , when Beatrice doth come ,
As we do trace this alley up and down ,
Our talk must only be of Benedick .
When I do name him , let it be thy part
To praise him more than ever man did merit .
My talk to thee must be how Benedick
Is sick in love with Beatrice . Of this matter
Is little Cupid’s crafty arrow made ,
That only wounds by hearsay . Now begin ,
For look where Beatrice like a lapwing runs
Close by the ground , to hear our conference .

Much Ado About Nothing


O god of love ! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man ,
But Nature never framed a woman’s heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice .
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes ,
Misprizing what they look on , and her wit
Values itself so highly that to her
All matter else seems weak . She cannot love ,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection ,
She is so self-endeared .

Much Ado About Nothing

Hang him , truant ! There’s no true drop of
blood in him to be truly touched with love . If he be
sad , he wants money .

Much Ado About Nothing

Indeed he looks younger than he did , by the
loss of a beard .

Much Ado About Nothing

Seest thou not , I say , what a deformed thief
this fashion is , how giddily he turns about all the
hot bloods between fourteen and five-and-thirty ,
sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh’s soldiers
in the reechy painting , sometimes like god Bel’s
priests in the old church window , sometimes like
the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten
tapestry , where his codpiece seems as massy as his
club ?

Much Ado About Nothing

Moral ? No , by my troth , I have no moral
meaning ; I meant plain holy thistle . You may think
perchance that I think you are in love . Nay , by ’r
Lady , I am not such a fool to think what I list , nor I
list not to think what I can , nor indeed I cannot
think , if I would think my heart out of thinking , that
you are in love or that you will be in love or that you
can be in love . Yet Benedick was such another , and
now is he become a man . He swore he would never
marry , and yet now , in despite of his heart , he eats
his meat without grudging . And how you may be
converted I know not , but methinks you look with
your eyes as other women do .

Much Ado About Nothing


Sweet prince , you learn me noble thankfulness . —
There , Leonato , take her back again .
Give not this rotten orange to your friend .
She’s but the sign and semblance of her honor .
Behold how like a maid she blushes here !
O , what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal !
Comes not that blood as modest evidence
To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear ,
All you that see her , that she were a maid ,
By these exterior shows ? But she is none .
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed .
Her blush is guiltiness , not modesty .

Much Ado About Nothing


Out on thee , seeming ! I will write against it .
You seem to me as Dian in her orb ,
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown .
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus , or those pampered animals
That rage in savage sensuality .

Much Ado About Nothing

This looks not like a nuptial .

Much Ado About Nothing


Dost thou look up ?

Much Ado About Nothing


Wherefore ? Why , doth not every earthly thing
Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood ? —
Do not live , Hero , do not ope thine eyes ,
For , did I think thou wouldst not quickly die ,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames ,
Myself would , on the rearward of reproaches ,
Strike at thy life . Grieved I I had but one ?
Chid I for that at frugal Nature’s frame ?
O , one too much by thee ! Why had I one ?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ?
Why had I not with charitable hand
Took up a beggar’s issue at my gates ,
Who , smirchèd thus , and mired with infamy ,
I might have said No part of it is mine ;
This shame derives itself from unknown loins ?
But mine , and mine I loved , and mine I praised ,
And mine that I was proud on , mine so much
That I myself was to myself not mine ,
Valuing of her — why she , O she , is fall’n
Into a pit of ink , that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again ,
And salt too little which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh !

Much Ado About Nothing


I know not . If they speak but truth of her ,
These hands shall tear her . If they wrong her honor ,
The proudest of them shall well hear of it .
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine ,
Nor age so eat up my invention ,
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means ,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends ,
But they shall find , awaked in such a kind ,
Both strength of limb and policy of mind ,
Ability in means and choice of friends ,
To quit me of them throughly .

Much Ado About Nothing


Marry , this well carried shall on her behalf
Change slander to remorse . That is some good .
But not for that dream I on this strange course ,
But on this travail look for greater birth .
She , dying , as it must be so maintained ,
Upon the instant that she was accused ,
Shall be lamented , pitied , and excused
Of every hearer . For it so falls out
That what we have we prize not to the worth
Whiles we enjoy it , but being lacked and lost ,
Why then we rack the value , then we find
The virtue that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours . So will it fare with Claudio .
When he shall hear she died upon his words ,
Th’ idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination ,
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come appareled in more precious habit ,
More moving , delicate , and full of life ,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul ,
Than when she lived indeed . Then shall he mourn ,
If ever love had interest in his liver ,
And wish he had not so accused her ,
No , though he thought his accusation true .
Let this be so , and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event in better shape
Than I can lay it down in likelihood .
But if all aim but this be leveled false ,
The supposition of the lady’s death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy .
And if it sort not well , you may conceal her ,
As best befits her wounded reputation ,
In some reclusive and religious life ,
Out of all eyes , tongues , minds , and injuries .

Much Ado About Nothing

Pray thee , fellow , peace . I do not like thy
look , I promise thee .

Much Ado About Nothing


I pray thee , peace . I will be flesh and blood ,
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently ,
However they have writ the style of gods
And made a push at chance and sufferance .

Much Ado About Nothing

My lord , my lord ,
I’ll prove it on his body if he dare ,
Despite his nice fence and his active practice ,
His May of youth and bloom of lustihood .

Much Ado About Nothing

As I am an honest man , he looks pale . — Art
thou sick , or angry ?

Much Ado About Nothing

Come you , sir . If justice cannot tame you ,
she shall ne’er weigh more reasons in her balance .
Nay , an you be a cursing hypocrite once , you must
be looked to .

Much Ado About Nothing


Runs not this speech like iron through your blood ?

Much Ado About Nothing


If you would know your wronger , look on me .

Much Ado About Nothing


Farewell , my lords . We look for you tomorrow .

Much Ado About Nothing


Good morrow , masters . Put your torches out .
The wolves have preyed , and look , the gentle day
Before the wheels of Phoebus , round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray .
Thanks to you all , and leave us . Fare you well .

Much Ado About Nothing

I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied
Beatrice , that I might have cudgeled thee out of thy
single life , to make thee a double-dealer , which out
of question thou wilt be , if my cousin do not look
exceeding narrowly to thee .

Othello

’Sblood , but you’ll not hear me !
If ever I did dream of such a matter ,
Abhor me .

Othello


Awake ! What ho , Brabantio ! Thieves , thieves !
Look to your house , your daughter , and your bags !
Thieves , thieves !

Othello


Sir , I will answer anything . But I beseech you ,
If ’t be your pleasure and most wise consent —
As partly I find it is — that your fair daughter ,
At this odd-even and dull watch o’ th’ night ,
Transported with no worse nor better guard
But with a knave of common hire , a gondolier ,
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor :
If this be known to you , and your allowance ,
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs .
But if you know not this , my manners tell me
We have your wrong rebuke . Do not believe
That from the sense of all civility
I thus would play and trifle with your Reverence .
Your daughter , if you have not given her leave ,
I say again , hath made a gross revolt ,
Tying her duty , beauty , wit , and fortunes
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger
Of here and everywhere . Straight satisfy yourself .
If she be in her chamber or your house ,
Let loose on me the justice of the state
For thus deluding you .

Othello


O heaven ! How got she out ? O treason of the blood !
Fathers , from hence trust not your daughters’ minds
By what you see them act . — Is there not charms
By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abused ? Have you not read , Roderigo ,
Of some such thing ?

Othello

Let him do his spite .
My services which I have done the signiory
Shall out-tongue his complaints . ’Tis yet to know
( Which , when I know that boasting is an honor ,
I shall promulgate ) I fetch my life and being
From men of royal siege , and my demerits
May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune
As this that I have reached . For know , Iago ,
But that I love the gentle Desdemona ,
I would not my unhousèd free condition
Put into circumscription and confine
For the sea’s worth . But look , what lights come
yond ?

Othello


So did I yours . Good your Grace , pardon me .
Neither my place nor aught I heard of business
Hath raised me from my bed , nor doth the general
care
Take hold on me , for my particular grief
Is of so floodgate and o’erbearing nature
That it engluts and swallows other sorrows
And it is still itself .

Othello


Whoe’er he be that in this foul proceeding
Hath thus beguiled your daughter of herself
And you of her , the bloody book of law
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter ,
After your own sense , yea , though our proper son
Stood in your action .

Othello

A maiden never bold ,
Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion
Blushed at herself . And she , in spite of nature ,
Of years , of country , credit , everything ,
To fall in love with what she feared to look on !
It is a judgment maimed and most imperfect
That will confess perfection so could err
Against all rules of nature , and must be driven
To find out practices of cunning hell
Why this should be . I therefore vouch again
That with some mixtures powerful o’er the blood ,
Or with some dram conjured to this effect ,
He wrought upon her .

Othello


Ancient , conduct them . You best know the place .

And till she come , as truly as to heaven
I do confess the vices of my blood ,
So justly to your grave ears I’ll present
How I did thrive in this fair lady’s love ,
And she in mine .

Othello


Her father loved me , oft invited me ,
Still questioned me the story of my life
From year to year — the battles , sieges , fortunes
That I have passed .
I ran it through , even from my boyish days
To th’ very moment that he bade me tell it ,
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances :
Of moving accidents by flood and field ,
Of hairbreadth ’scapes i’ th’ imminent deadly
breach ,
Of being taken by the insolent foe
And sold to slavery , of my redemption thence ,
And portance in my traveler’s history ,
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle ,
Rough quarries , rocks , and hills whose heads
touch heaven ,
It was my hint to speak — such was my process —
And of the cannibals that each other eat ,
The Anthropophagi , and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders . These things to
hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline .
But still the house affairs would draw her thence ,
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch
She’d come again , and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse . Which I , observing ,
Took once a pliant hour , and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate ,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard ,
But not intentively . I did consent ,
And often did beguile her of her tears
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffered . My story being done ,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs .
She swore , in faith , ’twas strange , ’twas passing
strange ,
’Twas pitiful , ’twas wondrous pitiful .
She wished she had not heard it , yet she wished
That heaven had made her such a man . She thanked
me ,
And bade me , if I had a friend that loved her ,
I should but teach him how to tell my story ,
And that would woo her . Upon this hint I spake .
She loved me for the dangers I had passed ,
And I loved her that she did pity them .
This only is the witchcraft I have used .
Here comes the lady . Let her witness it .

Othello


Look to her , Moor , if thou hast eyes to see .
She has deceived her father , and may thee .

Othello

O , villainous ! I have looked upon the world for
four times seven years , and since I could distinguish
betwixt a benefit and an injury , I never found
man that knew how to love himself . Ere I would say
I would drown myself for the love of a guinea hen , I
would change my humanity with a baboon .

Othello

Virtue ? A fig ! ’Tis in ourselves that we are thus or
thus . Our bodies are our gardens , to the which our
wills are gardeners . So that if we will plant nettles
or sow lettuce , set hyssop and weed up thyme ,
supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it
with many , either to have it sterile with idleness or
manured with industry , why the power and corrigible
authority of this lies in our wills . If the balance
of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise
another of sensuality , the blood and baseness of our
natures would conduct us to most prepost’rous
conclusions . But we have reason to cool our raging
motions , our carnal stings , our unbitted lusts —
whereof I take this that you call love to be a sect , or
scion .

Othello

It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission
of the will . Come , be a man ! Drown thyself ? Drown
cats and blind puppies . I have professed me thy
friend , and I confess me knit to thy deserving
with cables of perdurable toughness . I could never
better stead thee than now . Put money in thy purse .
Follow thou the wars ; defeat thy favor with an
usurped beard . I say , put money in thy purse . It
cannot be that Desdemona should long continue
her love to the Moor — put money in thy purse —
nor he his to her . It was a violent commencement in
her , and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration
— put but money in thy purse . These Moors are
changeable in their wills . Fill thy purse with money .
The food that to him now is as luscious as locusts
shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida .
She must change for youth . When she is sated
with his body she will find the error of her choice .
Therefore , put money in thy purse . If thou wilt
needs damn thyself , do it a more delicate way than
drowning . Make all the money thou canst . If sanctimony
and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian
and a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my
wits and all the tribe of hell , thou shalt enjoy her .
Therefore make money . A pox of drowning thyself !
It is clean out of the way . Seek thou rather to be
hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned
and go without her .

Othello


Nothing at all . It is a high-wrought flood .
I cannot ’twixt the heaven and the main
Descry a sail .

Othello


A segregation of the Turkish fleet .
For do but stand upon the foaming shore ,
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds ,
The wind-shaked surge , with high and monstrous
mane ,
Seems to cast water on the burning Bear
And quench the guards of th’ ever-fixèd pole .
I never did like molestation view
On the enchafèd flood .

Othello


But this same Cassio , though he speak of comfort
Touching the Turkish loss , yet he looks sadly
And prays the Moor be safe , for they were parted
With foul and violent tempest .

Othello


She that was ever fair and never proud ,
Had tongue at will and yet was never loud ,
Never lacked gold and yet went never gay ,
Fled from her wish , and yet said Now I may ,
She that being angered , her revenge being nigh ,
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly ,
She that in wisdom never was so frail
To change the cod’s head for the salmon’s tail ,
She that could think and ne’er disclose her mind ,
See suitors following and not look behind ,
She was a wight , if ever such wight were —

Othello

Lay thy finger thus , and let thy soul be instructed .
Mark me with what violence she first loved the
Moor but for bragging and telling her fantastical
lies . And will she love him still for prating ? Let not
thy discreet heart think it . Her eye must be fed . And
what delight shall she have to look on the devil ?
When the blood is made dull with the act of sport ,
there should be , again to inflame it and to give
satiety a fresh appetite , loveliness in favor , sympathy
in years , manners , and beauties , all which the Moor
is defective in . Now , for want of these required
conveniences , her delicate tenderness will find itself
abused , begin to heave the gorge , disrelish and
abhor the Moor . Very nature will instruct her in it
and compel her to some second choice . Now , sir ,
this granted — as it is a most pregnant and unforced
position — who stands so eminent in the degree of
this fortune as Cassio does ? A knave very voluble , no
further conscionable than in putting on the mere
form of civil and humane seeming for the better
compassing of his salt and most hidden loose
affection . Why , none , why , none ! A slipper and
subtle knave , a finder-out of occasions , that has an
eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages , though
true advantage never present itself ; a devilish knave !
Besides , the knave is handsome , young , and hath all
those requisites in him that folly and green minds
look after . A pestilent complete knave , and the
woman hath found him already .

Othello


Good Michael , look you to the guard tonight .
Let’s teach ourselves that honorable stop
Not to outsport discretion .

Othello


Iago hath direction what to do ,
But notwithstanding , with my personal eye
Will I look to ’t .

Othello

Ay , but , by your leave , not before me . The
Lieutenant is to be saved before the Ancient . Let’s
have no more of this . Let’s to our affairs . God
forgive us our sins ! Gentlemen , let’s look to our
business . Do not think , gentlemen , I am drunk . This
is my ancient , this is my right hand , and this is my
left . I am not drunk now . I can stand well enough ,
and I speak well enough .

Othello

It were well
The General were put in mind of it .
Perhaps he sees it not , or his good nature
Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio
And looks not on his evils . Is not this true ?

Othello


Why , how now , ho ! From whence ariseth this ?
Are we turned Turks , and to ourselves do that
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ?
For Christian shame , put by this barbarous brawl !
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage
Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion .
Silence that dreadful bell . It frights the isle
From her propriety . What is the matter , masters ?
Honest Iago , that looks dead with grieving ,
Speak . Who began this ? On thy love , I charge thee .

Othello


I do not know . Friends all but now , even now ,
In quarter and in terms like bride and groom
Divesting them for bed ; and then but now ,
As if some planet had unwitted men ,
Swords out , and tilting one at other’s breast ,
In opposition bloody . I cannot speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds ,
And would in action glorious I had lost
Those legs that brought me to a part of it !

Othello

Now , by heaven ,
My blood begins my safer guides to rule ,
And passion , having my best judgment collied ,
Assays to lead the way . Zounds , if I stir ,
Or do but lift this arm , the best of you
Shall sink in my rebuke . Give me to know
How this foul rout began , who set it on ;
And he that is approved in this offense ,
Though he had twinned with me , both at a birth ,
Shall lose me . What , in a town of war
Yet wild , the people’s hearts brimful of fear ,
To manage private and domestic quarrel ,
In night , and on the court and guard of safety ?
’Tis monstrous . Iago , who began ’t ?

Othello

I know , Iago ,
Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter ,
Making it light to Cassio . — Cassio , I love thee ,
But nevermore be officer of mine .


Look if my gentle love be not raised up !
I’ll make thee an example .

Othello

All’s well now ,
sweeting .
Come away to bed . Sir , for your hurts ,
Myself will be your surgeon . — Lead him off .

Iago , look with care about the town
And silence those whom this vile brawl
distracted . —
Come , Desdemona . ’Tis the soldier’s life
To have their balmy slumbers waked with strife .

Othello


I am glad of this , for now I shall have reason
To show the love and duty that I bear you
With franker spirit . Therefore , as I am bound ,
Receive it from me . I speak not yet of proof .
Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio ;
Wear your eyes thus , not jealous nor secure .
I would not have your free and noble nature ,
Out of self-bounty , be abused . Look to ’t .
I know our country disposition well .
In Venice they do let God see the pranks
They dare not show their husbands . Their best
conscience
Is not to leave ’t undone , but keep ’t unknown .

Othello


She did deceive her father , marrying you ,
And when she seemed to shake and fear your looks ,
She loved them most .

Othello


This fellow’s of exceeding honesty ,
And knows all qualities with a learnèd spirit
Of human dealings . If I do prove her haggard ,
Though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings ,
I’d whistle her off and let her down the wind
To prey at fortune . Haply , for I am black
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have , or for I am declined
Into the vale of years — yet that’s not much —
She’s gone , I am abused , and my relief
Must be to loathe her . O curse of marriage ,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours
And not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad
And live upon the vapor of a dungeon
Than keep a corner in the thing I love
For others’ uses . Yet ’tis the plague of great ones ;
Prerogatived are they less than the base .
’Tis destiny unshunnable , like death .
Even then this forkèd plague is fated to us
When we do quicken . Look where she comes .



If she be false , heaven mocks itself !
I’ll not believe ’t .

Othello


No , faith , she let it drop by negligence ,
And to th’ advantage I , being here , took ’t up .
Look , here ’tis .

Othello

Be not acknown on ’t .
I have use for it . Go , leave me .
I will in Cassio’s lodging lose this napkin
And let him find it . Trifles light as air
Are to the jealous confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ . This may do something .
The Moor already changes with my poison ;
Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons ,
Which at the first are scarce found to distaste ,
But with a little act upon the blood
Burn like the mines of sulfur .



I did say so .
Look where he comes . Not poppy nor mandragora
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owedst yesterday .

Othello


Make me to see ’t , or at the least so prove it
That the probation bear no hinge nor loop
To hang a doubt on , or woe upon thy life !

Othello

I do not like the office ,
But sith I am entered in this cause so far ,
Pricked to ’t by foolish honesty and love ,
I will go on . I lay with Cassio lately ,
And being troubled with a raging tooth
I could not sleep . There are a kind of men
So loose of soul that in their sleeps will mutter
Their affairs . One of this kind is Cassio .
In sleep I heard him say Sweet Desdemona ,
Let us be wary , let us hide our loves .
And then , sir , would he gripe and wring my hand ,
Cry O sweet creature ! then kiss me hard ,
As if he plucked up kisses by the roots
That grew upon my lips ; then laid his leg
O’er my thigh , and sighed , and kissed , and then
Cried Cursèd fate that gave thee to the Moor !

Othello


O , that the slave had forty thousand lives !
One is too poor , too weak for my revenge .
Now do I see ’tis true . Look here , Iago ,
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven .
’Tis gone .
Arise , black vengeance , from the hollow hell !
Yield up , O love , thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate ! Swell , bosom , with thy fraught ,
For ’tis of aspics’ tongues !

Othello

O , blood , blood , blood !

Othello


Never , Iago . Like to the Pontic Sea ,
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne’er feels retiring ebb , but keeps due on
To the Propontic and the Hellespont ,
Even so my bloody thoughts , with violent pace
Shall ne’er look back , ne’er ebb to humble love ,
Till that a capable and wide revenge
Swallow them up . Now by yond marble
heaven ,
In the due reverence of a sacred vow ,
I here engage my words .

Othello

Do not rise yet .
Witness , you ever-burning lights above ,
You elements that clip us round about ,
Witness that here Iago doth give up
The execution of his wit , hands , heart
To wronged Othello’s service ! Let him command ,
And to obey shall be in me remorse ,
What bloody business ever .

Othello

Look where he
comes .

Othello


Most veritable . Therefore , look to ’t well .

Othello


’Tis not a year or two shows us a man .
They are all but stomachs , and we all but food ;
They eat us hungerly , and when they are full
They belch us .



Look you — Cassio and my husband .

Othello


I prithee do so .
Something , sure , of state ,
Either from Venice , or some unhatched practice
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him ,
Hath puddled his clear spirit ; and in such cases
Men’s natures wrangle with inferior things ,
Though great ones are their object . ’Tis even so .
For let our finger ache , and it endues
Our other healthful members even to a sense
Of pain . Nay , we must think men are not gods ,
Nor of them look for such observancy
As fits the bridal . Beshrew me much , Emilia ,
I was — unhandsome warrior as I am ! —
Arraigning his unkindness with my soul .
But now I find I had suborned the witness ,
And he’s indicted falsely .

Othello

No , forbear .
The lethargy must have his quiet course .
If not , he foams at mouth , and by and by
Breaks out to savage madness . Look , he stirs .
Do you withdraw yourself a little while .
He will recover straight . When he is gone ,
I would on great occasion speak with you .

How is it , general ? Have you not hurt your head ?

Othello

Dost thou hear , Iago ,
I will be found most cunning in my patience ,
But ( dost thou hear ? ) most bloody .

Othello

Look how he laughs already !

Othello

Before me , look where she comes .

Othello

Is it his use ?
Or did the letters work upon his blood
And new-create this fault ?

Othello


Let me see your eyes . Look in my face .

Othello

Had it pleased heaven
To try me with affliction , had they rained
All kind of sores and shames on my bare head ,
Steeped me in poverty to the very lips ,
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ,
I should have found in some place of my soul
A drop of patience . But alas , to make me
A fixèd figure for the time of scorn
To point his slow unmoving finger at —
Yet could I bear that too , well , very well .
But there where I have garnered up my heart ,
Where either I must live or bear no life ,
The fountain from the which my current runs
Or else dries up — to be discarded thence ,
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads
To knot and gender in — turn thy complexion there ,
Patience , thou young and rose-lipped cherubin ,
Ay , there look grim as hell .

Othello

Get you to bed on th’ instant . I will be
returned forthwith . Dismiss your attendant there .
Look ’t be done .

Othello


How goes it now ? He looks gentler than he did .

Othello


’Tis he ! O brave Iago , honest and just ,
That hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong !
Thou teachest me . — Minion , your dear lies dead ,
And your unblest fate hies . Strumpet , I come .
Forth of my heart those charms , thine eyes , are
blotted .
Thy bed , lust-stained , shall with lust’s blood be
spotted .

Othello


Kill men i’ th’ dark ? — Where be these bloody
thieves ?
How silent is this town ! Ho , murder , murder ! —
What may you be ? Are you of good or evil ?

Othello


Signior Gratiano ? I cry your gentle pardon .
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners
That so neglected you .

Othello


What , look you pale ? — O , bear him out o’ th’ air .

Stay you , good
gentlemen . — Look you pale , mistress ? —
Do you perceive the gastness of her eye ? —
Nay , if you stare , we shall hear more anon . —
Behold her well . I pray you , look upon her .
Do you see , gentlemen ? Nay , guiltiness will speak
Though tongues were out of use .

Othello


It is the cause , it is the cause , my soul .
Let me not name it to you , you chaste stars .
It is the cause . Yet I’ll not shed her blood ,
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow ,
And smooth as monumental alabaster .
Yet she must die , else she’ll betray more men .
Put out the light , and then put out the light .
If I quench thee , thou flaming minister ,
I can again thy former light restore
Should I repent me . But once put out thy light ,
Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature ,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume . When I have plucked the
rose ,
I cannot give it vital growth again .
It needs must wither . I’ll smell it on the tree .
O balmy breath , that dost almost persuade
Justice to break her sword ! One
more , one more .
Be thus when thou art dead , and I will kill thee
And love thee after . One more , and this the last .

So sweet was ne’er so fatal . I must weep ,
But they are cruel tears . This sorrow’s heavenly :
It strikes where it doth love . She wakes .

Othello


That death’s unnatural that kills for loving .
Alas , why gnaw you so your nether lip ?
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame .
These are portents , but yet I hope , I hope
They do not point on me .

Othello


Look in upon me , then , and speak with me ,
Or naked as I am I will assault thee .

Othello

Behold , I have a weapon .
A better never did itself sustain
Upon a soldier’s thigh . I have seen the day
That with this little arm and this good sword ,
I have made my way through more impediments
Than twenty times your stop . But — O vain boast ! —
Who can control his fate ? ’Tis not so now .
Be not afraid , though you do see me weaponed .
Here is my journey’s end , here is my butt
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail .
Do you go back dismayed ? ’Tis a lost fear .
Man but a rush against Othello’s breast ,
And he retires . Where should Othello go ?

Now , how dost thou look now ? O ill-starred wench ,
Pale as thy smock , when we shall meet at compt ,
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven ,
And fiends will snatch at it . Cold , cold , my girl ?
Even like thy chastity . — O cursèd , cursèd slave ! —
Whip me , you devils ,
From the possession of this heavenly sight !
Blow me about in winds , roast me in sulfur ,
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire !
O Desdemon ! Dead , Desdemon ! Dead ! O , O !

Othello


I look down towards his feet ; but that’s a fable . —
If that thou be’st a devil , I cannot kill thee .

Othello

O bloody period !

Othello

O Spartan dog ,
More fell than anguish , hunger , or the sea ,
Look on the tragic loading of this bed .
This is thy work . — The object poisons sight .
Let it be hid . — Gratiano , keep the house ,
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor ,
For they succeed on you . To you , lord
governor ,
Remains the censure of this hellish villain .
The time , the place , the torture , O , enforce it .
Myself will straight aboard , and to the state
This heavy act with heavy heart relate .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


To sing a song that old was sung ,
From ashes ancient Gower is come ,
Assuming man’s infirmities
To glad your ear and please your eyes .
It hath been sung at festivals ,
On ember eves and holy days ,
And lords and ladies in their lives
Have read it for restoratives .
The purchase is to make men glorious ,
Et bonum quo antiquius , eo melius .
If you , born in these latter times
When wit’s more ripe , accept my rhymes ,
And that to hear an old man sing
May to your wishes pleasure bring ,
I life would wish , and that I might
Waste it for you like taper light .
This Antioch , then : Antiochus the Great
Built up this city for his chiefest seat ,
The fairest in all Syria .
I tell you what mine authors say .
This king unto him took a peer ,
Who died and left a female heir
So buxom , blithe , and full of face
As heaven had lent her all his grace ;
With whom the father liking took
And her to incest did provoke .
Bad child , worse father ! To entice his own
To evil should be done by none .
But custom what they did begin
Was with long use accounted no sin .
The beauty of this sinful dame
Made many princes thither frame
To seek her as a bedfellow ,
In marriage pleasures playfellow ;
Which to prevent he made a law
To keep her still , and men in awe ,
That whoso asked her for his wife ,
His riddle told not , lost his life .
So for her many a wight did die ,
As yon grim looks do testify .

What now ensues , to the judgment of your eye
I give my cause , who best can justify .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Let none disturb us . Why should
this change of thoughts ,
The sad companion dull-eyed Melancholy ,
Be my so used a guest as not an hour
In the day’s glorious walk or peaceful night ,
The tomb where grief should sleep , can breed me
quiet ?
Here pleasures court mine eyes , and mine eyes shun
them ;
And danger , which I feared , is at Antioch ,
Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here .
Yet neither pleasure’s art can joy my spirits ,
Nor yet the other’s distance comfort me .
Then it is thus : the passions of the mind
That have their first conception by misdread
Have after-nourishment and life by care ;
And what was first but fear what might be done
Grows elder now , and cares it be not done .
And so with me . The great Antiochus ,
’Gainst whom I am too little to contend ,
Since he’s so great can make his will his act ,
Will think me speaking though I swear to silence ;
Nor boots it me to say I honor him
If he suspect I may dishonor him .
And what may make him blush in being known ,
He’ll stop the course by which it might be known .
With hostile forces he’ll o’er-spread the land ,
And with th’ ostent of war will look so huge
Amazement shall drive courage from the state ,
Our men be vanquished ere they do resist ,
And subjects punished that ne’er thought offense ;
Which care of them , not pity of myself ,
Who am no more but as the tops of trees
Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them ,
Makes both my body pine and soul to languish
And punish that before that he would punish .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


All leave us else ; but let your cares o’erlook
What shipping and what lading’s in our haven ,
And then return to us .
Helicanus ,
Thou hast moved us . What seest thou in our looks ?

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


How dares the plants look up to heaven ,
From whence they have their nourishment ?

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Thou speak’st like a physician , Helicanus ,
That ministers a potion unto me
That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself .
Attend me , then : I went to Antioch ,
Where , as thou know’st , against the face of death
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty
From whence an issue I might propagate ,
Are arms to princes and bring joys to subjects .
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder ,
The rest — hark in thine ear — as black as incest ,
Which by my knowledge found , the sinful father
Seemed not to strike , but smooth . But thou know’st
this :
’Tis time to fear when tyrants seems to kiss ;
Which fear so grew in me I hither fled
Under the covering of a careful night ,
Who seemed my good protector ; and , being here ,
Bethought me what was past , what might succeed .
I knew him tyrannous , and tyrants’ fears
Decrease not but grow faster than the years ;
And should he doubt , as no doubt he doth ,
That I should open to the list’ning air
How many worthy princes’ bloods were shed
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope ,
To lop that doubt he’ll fill this land with arms ,
And make pretense of wrong that I have done him ;
When all , for mine — if I may call ’t — offense ,
Must feel war’s blow , who spares not innocence ;
Which love to all — of which thyself art one ,
Who now reproved’st me for ’t —

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Drew sleep out of mine eyes , blood from my cheeks ,
Musings into my mind , with thousand doubts
How I might stop this tempest ere it came ;
And finding little comfort to relieve them ,
I thought it princely charity to grieve for them .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


We’ll mingle our bloods together in the earth ,
From whence we had our being and our birth .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Tyre , I now look from thee , then , and to Tarsus
Intend my travel , where I’ll hear from thee ,
And by whose letters I’ll dispose myself .
The care I had and have of subjects’ good
On thee I lay , whose wisdom’s strength can bear it .
I’ll take thy word for faith , not ask thine oath .
Who shuns not to break one will crack both .
But in our orbs we’ll live so round and safe
That time of both this truth shall ne’er convince .
Thou showed’st a subject’s shine , I a true prince .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Lord Governor , for so we hear you are ,
Let not our ships and number of our men
Be like a beacon fired t’ amaze your eyes .
We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre
And seen the desolation of your streets ;
Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears ,
But to relieve them of their heavy load ;
And these our ships , you happily may think
Are like the Trojan horse was stuffed within
With bloody veins expecting overthrow ,
Are stored with corn to make your needy bread
And give them life whom hunger starved half dead .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Arise , I pray you , rise .
We do not look for reverence , but for love ,
And harborage for ourself , our ships , and men .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Look how thou stirr’st now ! Come
away , or I’ll fetch thee with a wanion .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Nay , master , said not I as much
when I saw the porpoise how he bounced and tumbled ?
They say they’re half fish , half flesh . A plague
on them ! They ne’er come but I look to be washed .
Master , I marvel how the fishes live in the sea .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Honest good fellow , what’s that ? If
it be a day fits you , search out of the calendar , and
nobody look after it !

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Wishing it so much blood unto your life .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


A gentleman of Tyre , my name Pericles .
My education been in arts and arms ,
Who , looking for adventures in the world ,
Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men ,
And after shipwrack driven upon this shore .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Now , by the gods , I pity his misfortune ,
And will awake him from his melancholy . —
Come , gentlemen , we sit too long on trifles
And waste the time which looks for other revels .
Even in your armors , as you are addressed ,
Will well become a soldiers’ dance .
I will not have excuse with saying this :
Loud music is too harsh for ladies’ heads ,
Since they love men in arms as well as beds .

So , this was well asked , ’twas so well performed .
Come , sir .
Here’s a lady that wants breathing too ,
And I have heard you knights of Tyre
Are excellent in making ladies trip ,
And that their measures are as excellent .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Sir , my daughter thinks very well of you ,
Ay , so well that you must be her master ,
And she will be your scholar . Therefore , look to it .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Yea , mistress , are you so peremptory ?
I am glad on ’t with all my heart . —
I’ll tame you ! I’ll bring you in subjection .
Will you , not having my consent ,
Bestow your love and your affections
Upon a stranger ? Who , for aught I know ,
May be — nor can I think the contrary —
As great in blood as I myself . —
Therefore , hear you , mistress : either frame
Your will to mine — and you , sir , hear you :
Either be ruled by me — or I’ll make you
Man and wife .
Nay , come , your hands and lips must seal it too .
And being joined , I’ll thus your hopes destroy .
And for further grief — God give you joy !
What , are you both pleased ?

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Even as my life my blood that fosters it .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Now sleep yslackèd hath the rout ;
No din but snores about the house ,
Made louder by the o’erfed breast
Of this most pompous marriage feast .
The cat with eyne of burning coal
Now couches from the mouse’s hole ,
And crickets sing at the oven’s mouth
Are the blither for their drouth .
Hymen hath brought the bride to bed ,
Where , by the loss of maidenhead ,
A babe is molded . Be attent ,
And time that is so briefly spent
With your fine fancies quaintly eche .
What’s dumb in show I’ll plain with speech .



By many a dern and painful perch
Of Pericles the careful search ,
By the four opposing coigns
Which the world together joins ,
Is made with all due diligence
That horse and sail and high expense
Can stead the quest . At last from Tyre ,
Fame answering the most strange enquire ,
To th’ court of King Simonides
Are letters brought , the tenor these :
Antiochus and his daughter dead ,
The men of Tyrus on the head
Of Helicanus would set on
The crown of Tyre , but he will none .
The mutiny he there hastes t’ oppress ,
Says to ’em , if King Pericles
Come not home in twice six moons ,
He , obedient to their dooms ,
Will take the crown . The sum of this ,
Brought hither to Pentapolis ,
Y-ravishèd the regions round ,
And everyone with claps can sound ,
Our heir apparent is a king !
Who dreamt , who thought of such a thing ?
Brief , he must hence depart to Tyre .
His queen , with child , makes her desire —
Which who shall cross ? — along to go .
Omit we all their dole and woe .
Lychorida , her nurse , she takes ,
And so to sea . Their vessel shakes
On Neptune’s billow . Half the flood
Hath their keel cut . But Fortune , moved ,
Varies again . The grizzled North
Disgorges such a tempest forth
That , as a duck for life that dives ,
So up and down the poor ship drives .
The lady shrieks and , well-anear ,
Does fall in travail with her fear .
And what ensues in this fell storm
Shall for itself itself perform .
I nill relate ; action may
Conveniently the rest convey ,
Which might not what by me is told .
In your imagination hold
This stage the ship upon whose deck
The sea-tossed Pericles appears to speak .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Set ’t down . Let’s look upon ’t .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Nay , certainly tonight ,
For look how fresh she looks . They were too rough
That threw her in the sea . — Make a fire within ;
Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet .

Death may usurp on nature many hours ,
And yet the fire of life kindle again
The o’erpressed spirits . I heard of an Egyptian
That had nine hours lain dead ,
Who was by good appliance recoverèd .



Well said , well said ! The fire and cloths .
The rough and woeful music that we have ,
Cause it to sound , beseech you . The
viol once more !
How thou stirr’st , thou block ! The music there .

I pray you , give her air . Gentlemen ,
This queen will live . Nature awakes a warm breath
Out of her . She hath not been entranced
Above five hours . See how she gins to blow
Into life’s flower again .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Hush , my gentle neighbors !
Lend me your hands . To the next chamber bear her .
Get linen . Now this matter must be looked to ,
For her relapse is mortal . Come , come ;
And Aesculapius guide us .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


I will embrace your offer . — Come , dearest madam . —
O , no tears , Lychorida , no tears !
Look to your little mistress , on whose grace
You may depend hereafter . — Come , my lord .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


How now , Marina ? Why do you keep alone ?
How chance my daughter is not with you ?
Do not consume your blood with sorrowing .
Have you a nurse of me ! Lord , how your favor ’s
Changed with this unprofitable woe .
Come , give me your flowers . O’er the sea marge
Walk with Leonine . The air is quick there ,
And it pierces and sharpens the stomach . — Come ,
Leonine ,
Take her by the arm . Walk with her .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


I’ll leave you , my sweet lady , for a while .
Pray walk softly ; do not heat your blood .
What , I must have care of you .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


You will not do ’t for all the world , I hope .
You are well-favored , and your looks foreshow
You have a gentle heart . I saw you lately
When you caught hurt in parting two that fought .
Good sooth , it showed well in you . Do so now .
Your lady seeks my life . Come you between ,
And save poor me , the weaker .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


O Dionyza , such a piece of slaughter
The sun and moon ne’er looked upon !

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Were I chief lord of all this spacious world ,
I’d give it to undo the deed . A lady
Much less in blood than virtue , yet a princess
To equal any single crown o’ th’ Earth earth
I’ the justice of compare . O villain Leonine ,
Whom thou hast poisoned too !
If thou hadst drunk to him , ’t had been a kindness
Becoming well thy face . What canst thou say
When noble Pericles shall demand his child ?

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Be it so , then .
Yet none does know but you how she came dead ,
Nor none can know , Leonine being gone .
She did distain my child and stood between
Her and her fortunes . None would look on her ,
But cast their gazes on Marina’s face ,
Whilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin
Not worth the time of day . It pierced me through ,
And though you call my course unnatural ,
You not your child well loving , yet I find
It greets me as an enterprise of kindness
Performed to your sole daughter .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

For flesh and blood , sir , white and red , you shall
see a rose ; and she were a rose indeed , if she had
but —

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Why , your herbwoman , she that sets
seeds and roots of shame and iniquity . O , you have
heard something of my power , and so stand aloof
for more serious wooing . But I protest to thee ,
pretty one , my authority shall not see thee , or else
look friendly upon thee . Come , bring me to some
private place . Come , come .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

No , nor looked on us .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Prithee , speak .
Falseness cannot come from thee , for thou lookest
Modest as Justice , and thou seemest a palace
For the crownèd Truth to dwell in . I will believe thee
And make my senses credit thy relation
To points that seem impossible , for thou lookest
Like one I loved indeed . What were thy friends ?
Didst thou not say , when I did push thee back —
Which was when I perceived thee — that thou cam’st
From good descending ?

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

Tell thy story .
If thine considered prove the thousand part
Of my endurance , thou art a man , and I
Have suffered like a girl . Yet thou dost look
Like Patience gazing on kings’ graves and smiling
Extremity out of act . What were thy friends ?
How lost thou them ? Thy name , my most kind
virgin ,
Recount , I do beseech thee . Come , sit by me .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

But are you flesh and blood ?
Have you a working pulse , and are no fairy
Motion ? Well , speak on . Where were you born ?
And wherefore called Marina ?

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Look to the lady . O , she’s but overjoyed .
Early one blustering morn this lady was
Thrown upon this shore . I oped the coffin ,
Found there rich jewels , recovered her , and placed her
Here in Diana’s temple .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Great sir , they shall be brought you to my house ,
Whither I invite you . Look , Thaisa
Is recoverèd .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

O , let me look !
If he be none of mine , my sanctity
Will to my sense bend no licentious ear ,
But curb it , spite of seeing . — O , my lord ,
Are you not Pericles ? Like him you spake ,
Like him you are . Did you not name a tempest ,
A birth and death ?

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Look who kneels here , flesh of thy flesh , Thaisa ,
Thy burden at the sea , and called Marina
For she was yielded there .

Pericles, Prince of Tyre


Pure Dian , I bless thee for thy vision , and
Will offer night oblations to thee . — Thaisa ,
This prince , the fair betrothèd of your daughter ,
Shall marry her at Pentapolis . — And now this
ornament
Makes me look dismal will I clip to form ,
And what this fourteen years no razor touched ,
To grace thy marriage day I’ll beautify .

Richard II


Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal .
’Tis not the trial of a woman’s war ,
The bitter clamor of two eager tongues ,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain .
The blood is hot that must be cooled for this .
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
As to be hushed and naught at all to say .
First , the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech ,
Which else would post until it had returned
These terms of treason doubled down his throat .
Setting aside his high blood’s royalty ,
And let him be no kinsman to my liege ,
I do defy him , and I spit at him ,
Call him a slanderous coward and a villain ,
Which to maintain I would allow him odds
And meet him , were I tied to run afoot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps
Or any other ground inhabitable
Wherever Englishman durst set his foot .
Meantime , let this defend my loyalty :
By all my hopes , most falsely doth he lie .

Richard II


Pale trembling coward , there I throw my gage ,
Disclaiming here the kindred of the King ,
And lay aside my high blood’s royalty ,
Which fear , not reverence , makes thee to except .
If guilty dread have left thee so much strength
As to take up mine honor’s pawn , then stoop .
By that and all the rites of knighthood else
Will I make good against thee , arm to arm ,
What I have spoke or thou canst worse devise .

Richard II


Look what I speak , my life shall prove it true :
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
In name of lendings for your Highness’ soldiers ,
The which he hath detained for lewd employments ,
Like a false traitor and injurious villain .
Besides I say , and will in battle prove ,
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
That ever was surveyed by English eye ,
That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrivèd in this land
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and
spring .
Further I say , and further will maintain
Upon his bad life to make all this good ,
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester’s death ,
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries ,
And consequently , like a traitor coward ,
Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of
blood ,
Which blood , like sacrificing Abel’s , cries
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth
To me for justice and rough chastisement .
And , by the glorious worth of my descent ,
This arm shall do it , or this life be spent .

Richard II


O , let my sovereign turn away his face
And bid his ears a little while be deaf ,
Till I have told this slander of his blood
How God and good men hate so foul a liar .

Richard II


Mowbray , impartial are our eyes and ears .
Were he my brother , nay , my kingdom’s heir ,
As he is but my father’s brother’s son ,
Now by my scepter’s awe I make a vow :
Such neighbor nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul .
He is our subject , Mowbray ; so art thou .
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow .

Richard II


Then , Bolingbroke , as low as to thy heart ,
Through the false passage of thy throat , thou liest .
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais
Disbursed I duly to his Highness’ soldiers ;
The other part reserved I by consent ,
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
Upon remainder of a dear account
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen .
Now swallow down that lie . For Gloucester’s death ,
I slew him not , but to my own disgrace
Neglected my sworn duty in that case . —
For you , my noble Lord of Lancaster ,
The honorable father to my foe ,
Once did I lay an ambush for your life ,
A trespass that doth vex my grievèd soul .
But ere I last received the sacrament ,
I did confess it , and exactly begged
Your Grace’s pardon , and I hope I had it . —
This is my fault . As for the rest appealed ,
It issues from the rancor of a villain ,
A recreant , and most degenerate traitor ,
Which in myself I boldly will defend ,
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor’s foot ,

To prove myself a loyal gentleman ,
Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom ;
In haste whereof most heartily I pray
Your Highness to assign our trial day .

Richard II


Wrath-kindled gentlemen , be ruled by me .
Let’s purge this choler without letting blood .
This we prescribe , though no physician .
Deep malice makes too deep incision .
Forget , forgive ; conclude and be agreed .
Our doctors say this is no month to bleed . —
Good uncle , let this end where it begun ;
We’ll calm the Duke of Norfolk , you your son .

Richard II


Myself I throw , dread sovereign , at thy foot .

My life thou shalt command , but not my shame .
The one my duty owes , but my fair name ,
Despite of death that lives upon my grave ,
To dark dishonor’s use thou shalt not have .
I am disgraced , impeached , and baffled here ,
Pierced to the soul with slander’s venomed spear ,
The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
Which breathed this poison .

Richard II


Alas , the part I had in Woodstock’s blood
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims
To stir against the butchers of his life .
But since correction lieth in those hands
Which made the fault that we cannot correct ,
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ,
Who , when they see the hours ripe on Earth earth ,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders’ heads .

Richard II


Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur ?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ?
Edward’s seven sons , whereof thyself art one ,
Were as seven vials of his sacred blood ,
Or seven fair branches springing from one root .
Some of those seven are dried by nature’s course ,
Some of those branches by the Destinies cut .
But Thomas , my dear lord , my life , my Gloucester ,
One vial full of Edward’s sacred blood ,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root ,
Is cracked , and all the precious liquor spilt ,
Is hacked down , and his summer leaves all faded ,
By envy’s hand and murder’s bloody ax .
Ah , Gaunt , his blood was thine ! That bed , that
womb ,
That metal , that self mold that fashioned thee
Made him a man ; and though thou livest and
breathest ,
Yet art thou slain in him . Thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father’s death
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die ,
Who was the model of thy father’s life .
Call it not patience , Gaunt . It is despair .
In suff’ring thus thy brother to be slaughtered ,
Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life ,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee .
That which in mean men we entitle patience
Is pale , cold cowardice in noble breasts .
What shall I say ? To safeguard thine own life ,
The best way is to venge my Gloucester’s death .

Richard II


We will descend and fold him in our arms .

Cousin of Hereford , as thy cause is right ,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight .
Farewell , my blood — which , if today thou shed ,
Lament we may , but not revenge thee dead .

Richard II


O , let no noble eye profane a tear
For me if I be gored with Mowbray’s spear .
As confident as is the falcon’s flight
Against a bird do I with Mowbray fight .
My loving lord , I take my leave of you . —
Of you , my noble cousin , Lord Aumerle ;
Not sick , although I have to do with death ,
But lusty , young , and cheerly drawing breath . —
Lo , as at English feasts , so I regreet
The daintiest last , to make the end most sweet .
O , thou the earthly author of my blood ,
Whose youthful spirit in me regenerate
Doth with a twofold vigor lift me up
To reach at victory above my head ,
Add proof unto mine armor with thy prayers ,
And with thy blessings steel my lance’s point
That it may enter Mowbray’s waxen coat
And furbish new the name of John o’ Gaunt ,
Even in the lusty havior of his son .

Richard II


God in thy good cause make thee prosperous .
Be swift like lightning in the execution ,
And let thy blows , doubly redoubled ,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy .
Rouse up thy youthful blood , be valiant , and live .

Richard II


Let them lay by their helmets and their spears ,
And both return back to their chairs again .
Withdraw with us , and let the
trumpets sound
While we return these dukes what we decree .

Draw near ,
And list what with our council we have done .
For that our kingdom’s earth should not be soiled
With that dear blood which it hath fosterèd ;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil wounds plowed up with neighbor’s sword ;
And for we think the eagle-wingèd pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts ,
With rival-hating envy , set on you
To wake our peace , which in our country’s cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ,
Which , so roused up with boist’rous untuned
drums ,
With harsh resounding trumpets’ dreadful bray ,
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms ,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
And make us wade even in our kindred’s blood :
Therefore we banish you our territories .
You , cousin Hereford , upon pain of life ,
Till twice five summers have enriched our fields ,
Shall not regreet our fair dominions ,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment .

Richard II


A heavy sentence , my most sovereign liege ,
And all unlooked-for from your Highness’ mouth .
A dearer merit , not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air ,
Have I deservèd at your Highness’ hands .
The language I have learnt these forty years ,
My native English , now I must forgo ;
And now my tongue’s use is to me no more
Than an unstringèd viol or a harp ,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up ,
Or , being open , put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony .
Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue ,
Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips ,
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my jailor to attend on me .
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse ,
Too far in years to be a pupil now .
What is thy sentence then but speechless death ,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native
breath ?

Richard II


Return again , and take an oath with thee .
Lay on our royal
sword your banished hands .

Swear by the duty that you owe to God —
Our part therein we banish with yourselves —
To keep the oath that we administer :
You never shall , so help you truth and God ,
Embrace each other’s love in banishment ,
Nor never look upon each other’s face ,
Nor never write , regreet , nor reconcile
This louring tempest of your homebred hate ,
Nor never by advisèd purpose meet
To plot , contrive , or complot any ill
’Gainst us , our state , our subjects , or our land .

Richard II


Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour .
You urged me as a judge , but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father .
O , had it been a stranger , not my child ,
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild .
A partial slander sought I to avoid ,
And in the sentence my own life destroyed .
Alas , I looked when some of you should say
I was too strict , to make mine own away .
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
Against my will to do myself this wrong .

Richard II


All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens .
Teach thy necessity to reason thus :
There is no virtue like necessity .
Think not the King did banish thee ,
But thou the King . Woe doth the heavier sit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne .
Go , say I sent thee forth to purchase honor ,
And not the King exiled thee ; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
And thou art flying to a fresher clime .
Look what thy soul holds dear , imagine it
To lie that way thou goest , not whence thou com’st .
Suppose the singing birds musicians ,
The grass whereon thou tread’st the presence
strewed ,
The flowers fair ladies , and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance ;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light .

Richard II


O , how that name befits my composition !
Old Gaunt indeed , and gaunt in being old .
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast ,
And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt ?
For sleeping England long time have I watched ;
Watching breeds leanness , leanness is all gaunt .
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon
Is my strict fast — I mean my children’s looks —
And , therein fasting , hast thou made me gaunt .
Gaunt am I for the grave , gaunt as a grave ,
Whose hollow womb inherits naught but bones .

Richard II

A lunatic lean-witted fool ,
Presuming on an ague’s privilege ,
Darest with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek , chasing the royal blood
With fury from his native residence .
Now , by my seat’s right royal majesty ,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward’s son ,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head
Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders .

Richard II


O , spare me not , my brother Edward’s son ,
For that I was his father Edward’s son !
That blood already , like the pelican ,
Hast thou tapped out and drunkenly caroused .
My brother Gloucester — plain , well-meaning soul ,
Whom fair befall in heaven ’mongst happy souls —
May be a precedent and witness good
That thou respect’st not spilling Edward’s blood .
Join with the present sickness that I have ,
And thy unkindness be like crooked age
To crop at once a too-long withered flower .
Live in thy shame , but die not shame with thee !
These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! —
Convey me to my bed , then to my grave .
Love they to live that love and honor have .

Richard II


How long shall I be patient ? Ah , how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong ?
Not Gloucester’s death , nor Hereford’s banishment ,
Nor Gaunt’s rebukes , nor England’s private wrongs ,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage , nor my own disgrace ,
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign’s face .
I am the last of noble Edward’s sons ,
Of whom thy father , Prince of Wales , was first .
In war was never lion raged more fierce ,
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild ,
Than was that young and princely gentleman .
His face thou hast , for even so looked he ,
Accomplished with the number of thy hours ;
But when he frowned , it was against the French
And not against his friends . His noble hand
Did win what he did spend , and spent not that
Which his triumphant father’s hand had won .
His hands were guilty of no kindred blood ,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin .
O , Richard ! York is too far gone with grief ,
Or else he never would compare between .

Richard II


Now , afore God , ’tis shame such wrongs are borne
In him , a royal prince , and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land .
The King is not himself , but basely led
By flatterers ; and what they will inform
Merely in hate ’gainst any of us all ,
That will the King severely prosecute
’Gainst us , our lives , our children , and our heirs .

Richard II


Then thus : I have from Le Port Blanc ,
A bay in Brittany , received intelligence
That Harry Duke of Hereford , Rainold Lord
Cobham ,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter ,
His brother , archbishop late of Canterbury ,
Sir Thomas Erpingham , Sir John Ramston ,
Sir John Norbery , Sir Robert Waterton , and Francis
Coint —
All these well furnished by the Duke of Brittany
With eight tall ships , three thousand men of war ,
Are making hither with all due expedience
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore .
Perhaps they had ere this , but that they stay
The first departing of the King for Ireland .
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke ,
Imp out our drooping country’s broken wing ,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemished crown ,
Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter’s gilt ,
And make high majesty look like itself ,
Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh .
But if you faint , as fearing to do so ,
Stay and be secret , and myself will go .

Richard II


Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows
Which shows like grief itself but is not so ;
For sorrow’s eyes , glazed with blinding tears ,
Divides one thing entire to many objects ,
Like perspectives , which rightly gazed upon
Show nothing but confusion , eyed awry
Distinguish form . So your sweet Majesty ,
Looking awry upon your lord’s departure ,
Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail ,
Which , looked on as it is , is naught but shadows
Of what it is not . Then , thrice-gracious queen ,
More than your lord’s departure weep not . More is
not seen ,
Or if it be , ’tis with false sorrow’s eye ,
Which for things true weeps things imaginary .

Richard II


With signs of war about his agèd neck .
O , full of careful business are his looks ! —
Uncle , for God’s sake speak comfortable words .

Richard II


No , my good lord , for that is not forgot
Which ne’er I did remember . To my knowledge
I never in my life did look on him .

Richard II


Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby ,
Bloody with spurring , fiery red with haste .

Richard II


As I was banished , I was banished Hereford ,
But as I come , I come for Lancaster .
And , noble uncle , I beseech your Grace
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye .
You are my father , for methinks in you
I see old Gaunt alive . O , then , my father ,
Will you permit that I shall stand condemned
A wandering vagabond , my rights and royalties
Plucked from my arms perforce and given away
To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born ?
If that my cousin king be king in England ,
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster .
You have a son , Aumerle , my noble cousin .
Had you first died and he been thus trod down ,
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father
To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay .
I am denied to sue my livery here ,
And yet my letters patents give me leave .
My father’s goods are all distrained and sold ,
And these , and all , are all amiss employed .
What would you have me do ? I am a subject ,
And I challenge law . Attorneys are denied me ,
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent .

Richard II


’Tis thought the King is dead . We will not stay .
The bay trees in our country are all withered ,
And meteors fright the fixèd stars of heaven ;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the Earth earth ,
And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change ;
Rich men look sad , and ruffians dance and leap ,
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy ,
The other to enjoy by rage and war .
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings .
Farewell . Our countrymen are gone and fled ,
As well assured Richard their king is dead .

Richard II

Bring forth these men . —
Bushy and Green , I will not vex your souls ,
Since presently your souls must part your bodies ,
With too much urging your pernicious lives ,
For ’twere no charity ; yet to wash your blood
From off my hands , here in the view of men
I will unfold some causes of your deaths :
You have misled a prince , a royal king ,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments
By you unhappied and disfigured clean .
You have in manner with your sinful hours
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him ,
Broke the possession of a royal bed ,
And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs .
Myself , a prince by fortune of my birth ,
Near to the King in blood , and near in love
Till you did make him misinterpret me ,
Have stooped my neck under your injuries
And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds ,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment ,
Whilst you have fed upon my seigniories ,
Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods ,
From my own windows torn my household coat ,
Rased out my imprese , leaving me no sign ,
Save men’s opinions and my living blood ,
To show the world I am a gentleman .
This and much more , much more than twice all
this ,
Condemns you to the death . — See them delivered
over
To execution and the hand of death .

Richard II


Comfort , my liege . Why looks your Grace so pale ?

Richard II


But now the blood of twenty thousand men
Did triumph in my face , and they are fled ;
And till so much blood thither come again
Have I not reason to look pale and dead ?
All souls that will be safe , fly from my side ,
For time hath set a blot upon my pride .

Richard II


I had forgot myself . Am I not king ?
Awake , thou coward majesty , thou sleepest !
Is not the King’s name twenty thousand names ?
Arm , arm , my name ! A puny subject strikes
At thy great glory . Look not to the ground ,
You favorites of a king . Are we not high ?
High be our thoughts . I know my Uncle York
Hath power enough to serve our turn . — But who
comes here ?

Richard II


O villains , vipers , damned without redemption !
Dogs easily won to fawn on any man !
Snakes in my heart blood warmed , that sting my
heart !
Three Judases , each one thrice worse than Judas !
Would they make peace ? Terrible hell
Make war upon their spotted souls for this !

Richard II


No matter where . Of comfort no man speak .
Let’s talk of graves , of worms , and epitaphs ,
Make dust our paper , and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth .
Let’s choose executors and talk of wills .
And yet not so , for what can we bequeath
Save our deposèd bodies to the ground ?
Our lands , our lives , and all are Bolingbroke’s ,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones .
For God’s sake , let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings —
How some have been deposed , some slain in war ,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed ,
Some poisoned by their wives , some sleeping killed ,
All murdered . For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court , and there the antic sits ,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp ,
Allowing him a breath , a little scene ,
To monarchize , be feared , and kill with looks ,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit ,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable ; and humored thus ,
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall , and farewell , king !
Cover your heads , and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence . Throw away respect ,
Tradition , form , and ceremonious duty ,
For you have but mistook me all this while .
I live with bread like you , feel want ,
Taste grief , need friends . Subjected thus ,
How can you say to me I am a king ?

Richard II


Thou chid’st me well . — Proud Bolingbroke , I come
To change blows with thee for our day of doom . —
This ague fit of fear is overblown .
An easy task it is to win our own . —
Say , Scroop , where lies our uncle with his power ?
Speak sweetly , man , although thy looks be sour .

Richard II

Noble lord ,
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ,
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley
Into his ruined ears , and thus deliver :
Henry Bolingbroke
On both his knees doth kiss King Richard’s hand ,
And sends allegiance and true faith of heart
To his most royal person , hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power ,
Provided that my banishment repealed
And lands restored again be freely granted .
If not , I’ll use the advantage of my power
And lay the summer’s dust with showers of blood
Rained from the wounds of slaughtered
Englishmen —
The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard’s land ,
My stooping duty tenderly shall show .
Go signify as much while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain .

Let’s march without the noise of threat’ning drum ,
That from this castle’s tottered battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perused .
Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water when their thund’ring shock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven .
Be he the fire , I’ll be the yielding water ;
The rage be his , whilst on the earth I rain
My waters — on the earth , and not on him .
March on , and mark King Richard how he looks .


See , see , King Richard doth himself appear
As doth the blushing discontented sun
From out the fiery portal of the east
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory and to stain the track
Of his bright passage to the occident .

Richard II


Yet looks he like a king . Behold , his eye ,
As bright as is the eagle’s , lightens forth
Controlling majesty . Alack , alack for woe
That any harm should stain so fair a show !

Richard II


We are amazed , and thus long have we stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee ,
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king .
An if we be , how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence ?
If we be not , show us the hand of God
That hath dismissed us from our stewardship ,
For well we know no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the sacred handle of our scepter ,
Unless he do profane , steal , or usurp .
And though you think that all , as you have done ,
Have torn their souls by turning them from us ,
And we are barren and bereft of friends ,
Yet know , my master , God omnipotent ,
Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of pestilence , and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn and unbegot ,
That lift your vassal hands against my head
And threat the glory of my precious crown .
Tell Bolingbroke — for yon methinks he stands —
That every stride he makes upon my land
Is dangerous treason . He is come to open
The purple testament of bleeding war ;
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace ,
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers’ sons
Shall ill become the flower of England’s face ,
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To scarlet indignation , and bedew
Her pastures’ grass with faithful English blood .

Richard II


The King of heaven forbid our lord the King
Should so with civil and uncivil arms
Be rushed upon ! Thy thrice-noble cousin ,
Harry Bolingbroke , doth humbly kiss thy hand ,
And by the honorable tomb he swears
That stands upon your royal grandsire’s bones ,
And by the royalties of both your bloods ,
Currents that spring from one most gracious head ,
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt ,
And by the worth and honor of himself ,
Comprising all that may be sworn or said ,
His coming hither hath no further scope
Than for his lineal royalties , and to beg
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees ;
Which on thy royal party granted once ,
His glittering arms he will commend to rust ,
His barbèd steeds to stables , and his heart
To faithful service of your Majesty .
This swears he , as he is a prince and just ,
And as I am a gentleman I credit him .

Richard II


Northumberland , say thus the King returns :
His noble cousin is right welcome hither ,
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplished without contradiction .
With all the gracious utterance thou hast ,
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends .

We do debase ourselves , cousin , do
we not ,
To look so poorly and to speak so fair ?
Shall we call back Northumberland and send
Defiance to the traitor and so die ?

Richard II


Go , bind thou up young dangling apricokes
Which , like unruly children , make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight .
Give some supportance to the bending twigs . —
Go thou , and like an executioner
Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays
That look too lofty in our commonwealth .
All must be even in our government .
You thus employed , I will go root away
The noisome weeds which without profit suck
The soil’s fertility from wholesome flowers .

Richard II

They are . And Bolingbroke
Hath seized the wasteful king . O , what pity is it
That he had not so trimmed and dressed his land
As we this garden ! We at time of year
Do wound the bark , the skin of our fruit trees ,
Lest , being overproud in sap and blood ,
With too much riches it confound itself .
Had he done so to great and growing men ,
They might have lived to bear and he to taste
Their fruits of duty . Superfluous branches
We lop away , that bearing boughs may live .
Had he done so , himself had borne the crown ,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down .

Richard II


Nimble mischance , that art so light of foot ,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me ,
And am I last that knows it ? O , thou thinkest
To serve me last that I may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breast . Come , ladies , go
To meet at London London’s king in woe .
What , was I born to this , that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke ? —
Gard’ner , for telling me these news of woe ,
Pray God the plants thou graft’st may never grow .

Richard II

Call forth Bagot .



Now , Bagot , freely speak thy mind
What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death ,
Who wrought it with the King , and who performed
The bloody office of his timeless end .

Richard II


Cousin , stand forth , and look upon that man .

Richard II

Princes and noble lords ,
What answer shall I make to this base man ?
Shall I so much dishonor my fair stars
On equal terms to give him chastisement ?
Either I must , or have mine honor soiled
With the attainder of his slanderous lips .

There is my gage , the manual seal of death
That marks thee out for hell . I say thou liest ,
And will maintain what thou hast said is false
In thy heart-blood , though being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword .

Richard II

Marry , God forbid !
Worst in this royal presence may I speak ,
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth .
Would God that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard ! Then true noblesse would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong .
What subject can give sentence on his king ?
And who sits here that is not Richard’s subject ?
Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear ,
Although apparent guilt be seen in them ;
And shall the figure of God’s majesty ,
His captain , steward , deputy elect ,
Anointed , crowned , planted many years ,
Be judged by subject and inferior breath ,
And he himself not present ? O , forfend it God
That in a Christian climate souls refined
Should show so heinous , black , obscene a deed !
I speak to subjects and a subject speaks ,
Stirred up by God thus boldly for his king .
My Lord of Hereford here , whom you call king ,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford’s king ,
And if you crown him , let me prophesy
The blood of English shall manure the ground
And future ages groan for this foul act ,
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels ,
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound .
Disorder , horror , fear , and mutiny
Shall here inhabit , and this land be called
The field of Golgotha and dead men’s skulls .
O , if you raise this house against this house ,
It will the woefullest division prove
That ever fell upon this cursèd earth !
Prevent it , resist it , let it not be so ,
Lest child , child’s children , cry against you woe !

Richard II


Lords , you that here are under our arrest ,
Procure your sureties for your days of answer .
Little are we beholding to your love
And little looked for at your helping hands .

Richard II


Must I do so ? And must I ravel out
My weaved-up follies ? Gentle Northumberland ,
If thy offenses were upon record ,
Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop
To read a lecture of them ? If thou wouldst ,
There shouldst thou find one heinous article
Containing the deposing of a king
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath ,
Marked with a blot , damned in the book of
heaven . —
Nay , all of you that stand and look upon me
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself ,
Though some of you , with Pilate , wash your hands ,
Showing an outward pity , yet you Pilates
Have here delivered me to my sour cross ,
And water cannot wash away your sin .

Richard II


Go , some of you , and fetch a looking-glass .

Richard II


This way the King will come . This is the way
To Julius Caesar’s ill-erected tower ,
To whose flint bosom my condemnèd lord
Is doomed a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke .
Here let us rest , if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king’s queen .



But soft , but see — or rather do not see
My fair rose wither ; yet look up , behold ,
That you in pity may dissolve to dew
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears . —
Ah , thou , the model where old Troy did stand ,
Thou map of honor , thou King Richard’s tomb ,
And not King Richard ! Thou most beauteous inn ,
Why should hard-favored grief be lodged in thee
When triumph is become an alehouse guest ?

Richard II


Then , as I said , the Duke , great Bolingbroke ,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed ,
Which his aspiring rider seemed to know ,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course ,
Whilst all tongues cried God save thee ,
Bolingbroke !
You would have thought the very windows spake ,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage , and that all the walls
With painted imagery had said at once
Jesu preserve thee ! Welcome , Bolingbroke !
Whilst he , from the one side to the other turning ,
Bareheaded , lower than his proud steed’s neck ,
Bespake them thus : I thank you , countrymen .
And thus still doing , thus he passed along .

Richard II


What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom ?
Yea , lookst thou pale ? Let me see the writing .

Richard II


Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son ?
’Tis full three months since I did see him last .
If any plague hang over us , ’tis he .
I would to God , my lords , he might be found .
Inquire at London , ’mongst the taverns there ,
For there , they say , he daily doth frequent
With unrestrainèd loose companions ,
Even such , they say , as stand in narrow lanes
And beat our watch and rob our passengers ,
While he , young wanton and effeminate boy ,
Takes on the point of honor to support
So dissolute a crew .

Richard II


What means our cousin , that he stares and looks so
wildly ?

Richard II


My liege , beware ! Look to thyself !
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there .

Richard II


Pleads he in earnest ? Look upon his face .
His eyes do drop no tears , his prayers are in jest ;
His words come from his mouth , ours from our
breast .
He prays but faintly , and would be denied .
We pray with heart and soul and all beside .
His weary joints would gladly rise , I know .
Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow .
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ,
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity .
Our prayers do outpray his . Then let them have
That mercy which true prayer ought to have .

Richard II


And speaking it , he wishtly looked on me ,
As who should say I would thou wert the man
That would divorce this terror from my heart —
Meaning the king at Pomfret . Come , let’s go .
I am the King’s friend , and will rid his foe .

Richard II


I was a poor groom of thy stable , king ,
When thou wert king ; who , traveling towards York ,
With much ado at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometime royal master’s face .
O , how it earned my heart when I beheld
In London streets , that coronation day ,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary ,
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid ,
That horse that I so carefully have dressed .

Richard II


How now , what means death in this rude assault ?
Villain , thy own hand yields thy death’s instrument .

Go thou and fill another room in hell .


That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
That staggers thus my person . Exton , thy fierce hand
Hath with the King’s blood stained the King’s own
land .
Mount , mount , my soul . Thy seat is up on high ,
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward , here to die .

Richard II


As full of valor as of royal blood .
Both have I spilled . O , would the deed were good !
For now the devil that told me I did well
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell .
This dead king to the living king I’ll bear .
Take hence the rest and give them burial here .

Richard II


They love not poison that do poison need ,
Nor do I thee . Though I did wish him dead ,
I hate the murderer , love him murderèd .
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labor ,
But neither my good word nor princely favor .
With Cain go wander through shades of night ,
And never show thy head by day nor light .

Lords , I protest my soul is full of woe
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow .
Come mourn with me for what I do lament ,
And put on sullen black incontinent .
I’ll make a voyage to the Holy Land
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand .

March sadly after . Grace my mournings here
In weeping after this untimely bier .

Richard III


Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York ,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried .
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ,
Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments ,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings ,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures .
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front ;
And now , instead of mounting barbèd steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries ,
He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute .
But I , that am not shaped for sportive tricks ,
Nor made to court an amorous looking glass ;
I , that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ;
I , that am curtailed of this fair proportion ,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature ,
Deformed , unfinished , sent before my time
Into this breathing world scarce half made up ,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them —
Why , I , in this weak piping time of peace ,
Have no delight to pass away the time ,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity .
And therefore , since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days ,
I am determinèd to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days .
Plots have I laid , inductions dangerous ,
By drunken prophecies , libels , and dreams ,
To set my brother Clarence and the King
In deadly hate , the one against the other ;
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle , false , and treacherous ,
This day should Clarence closely be mewed up
About a prophecy which says that G
Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be .
Dive , thoughts , down to my soul . Here Clarence
comes .



Brother , good day . What means this armèd guard
That waits upon your Grace ?

Richard III


Set down , set down your honorable load ,
If honor may be shrouded in a hearse ,
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
Th’ untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster .

Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ,
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ,
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ,
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne ,
Wife to thy Edward , to thy slaughtered son ,
Stabbed by the selfsame hand that made these
wounds .
Lo , in these windows that let forth thy life
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes .
O , cursèd be the hand that made these holes ;
Cursèd the heart that had the heart to do it ;
Cursèd the blood that let this blood from hence .
More direful hap betide that hated wretch
That makes us wretched by the death of thee
Than I can wish to wolves , to spiders , toads ,
Or any creeping venomed thing that lives .
If ever he have child , abortive be it ,
Prodigious , and untimely brought to light ,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view ,
And that be heir to his unhappiness .
If ever he have wife , let her be made
More miserable by the death of him
Than I am made by my young lord and thee . —
Come now towards Chertsey with your holy load ,
Taken from Paul’s to be interrèd there .

And still , as you are weary of this weight ,
Rest you , whiles I lament King Henry’s corse .

Richard III


Foul devil , for God’s sake , hence , and trouble us
not ,
For thou hast made the happy Earth earth thy hell ,
Filled it with cursing cries and deep exclaims .
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds ,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries .

O , gentlemen , see , see dead Henry’s wounds
Open their congealed mouths and bleed afresh ! —
Blush , blush , thou lump of foul deformity ,
For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells .
Thy deeds , inhuman and unnatural ,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural . —
O God , which this blood mad’st , revenge his death !
O Earth earth , which this blood drink’st , revenge his
death !
Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer
dead ,
Or Earth earth gape open wide and eat him quick ,
As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood ,
Which his hell-governed arm hath butcherèd .

Richard III


In thy foul throat thou liest . Queen Margaret saw
Thy murd’rous falchion smoking in his blood ,
The which thou once didst bend against her breast ,
But that thy brothers beat aside the point .

Richard III


Thou wast provokèd by thy bloody mind ,
That never dream’st on aught but butcheries .
Didst thou not kill this king ?

Richard III


I would they were , that I might die at once ,
For now they kill me with a living death .
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt
tears ,
Shamed their aspects with store of childish drops .
These eyes , which never shed remorseful tear —
No , when my father York and Edward wept
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made
When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him ;
Nor when thy warlike father , like a child ,
Told the sad story of my father’s death
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep ,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks
Like trees bedashed with rain — in that sad time ,
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear ;
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale
Thy beauty hath , and made them blind with
weeping .
I never sued to friend , nor enemy ;
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word .
But now thy beauty is proposed my fee ,
My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to
speak .
Teach not thy lip such scorn , for it was made
For kissing , lady , not for such contempt .
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive ,
Lo , here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword ,
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee ,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke
And humbly beg the death upon my knee .

Nay , do not pause , for I did kill King Henry —
But ’twas thy beauty that provokèd me .
Nay , now dispatch ; ’twas I that stabbed young
Edward —
But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on .

Take up the sword again , or take up me .

Richard III


Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger ;
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart .
Wear both of them , for both of them are thine .
And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favor at thy gracious hand ,
Thou dost confirm his happiness forever .

Richard III


No , to Whitefriars . There attend my coming .

Was ever woman in this humor wooed ?
Was ever woman in this humor won ?
I’ll have her , but I will not keep her long .
What , I that killed her husband and his father ,
To take her in her heart’s extremest hate ,
With curses in her mouth , tears in her eyes ,
The bleeding witness of my hatred by ,
Having God , her conscience , and these bars against
me ,
And I no friends to back my suit at all
But the plain devil and dissembling looks ?
And yet to win her , all the world to nothing !
Ha !
Hath she forgot already that brave prince ,
Edward , her lord , whom I some three months since
Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewkesbury ?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman ,
Framed in the prodigality of nature ,
Young , valiant , wise , and , no doubt , right royal ,
The spacious world cannot again afford .
And will she yet abase her eyes on me ,
That cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince
And made her widow to a woeful bed ?
On me , whose all not equals Edward’s moiety ?
On me , that halts and am misshapen thus ?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier ,
I do mistake my person all this while !
Upon my life , she finds , although I cannot ,
Myself to be a marv’lous proper man .
I’ll be at charges for a looking glass
And entertain a score or two of tailors
To study fashions to adorn my body .
Since I am crept in favor with myself ,
I will maintain it with some little cost .
But first I’ll turn yon fellow in his grave
And then return lamenting to my love .
Shine out , fair sun , till I have bought a glass ,
That I may see my shadow as I pass .

Richard III


They do me wrong , and I will not endure it !
Who is it that complains unto the King
That I , forsooth , am stern and love them not ?
By holy Paul , they love his Grace but lightly
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumors .
Because I cannot flatter and look fair ,
Smile in men’s faces , smooth , deceive , and cog ,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy ,
I must be held a rancorous enemy .
Cannot a plain man live and think no harm ,
But thus his simple truth must be abused
With silken , sly , insinuating Jacks ?

Richard III


What , threat you me with telling of the King ?
Tell him and spare not . Look , what I have said ,
I will avouch ’t in presence of the King ;
I dare adventure to be sent to th’ Tower .
’Tis time to speak . My pains are quite forgot .

Richard III


Ere you were queen , ay , or your husband king ,
I was a packhorse in his great affairs ,
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries ,
A liberal rewarder of his friends .
To royalize his blood , I spent mine own .

Richard III


Ay , and much better blood than his or thine .

Richard III


As little joy enjoys the queen thereof ,
For I am she , and altogether joyless .
I can no longer hold me patient .

Hear me , you wrangling pirates , that fall out
In sharing that which you have pilled from me !
Which of you trembles not that looks on me ?
If not , that I am queen , you bow like subjects ,
Yet that , by you deposed , you quake like rebels . —
Ah , gentle villain , do not turn away .

Richard III


The curse my noble father laid on thee
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with
paper ,
And with thy scorns drew’st rivers from his eyes ,
And then , to dry them , gav’st the Duke a clout
Steeped in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland —
His curses then , from bitterness of soul
Denounced against thee , are all fall’n upon thee ,
And God , not we , hath plagued thy bloody deed .

Richard III


What , were you snarling all before I came ,
Ready to catch each other by the throat ,
And turn you all your hatred now on me ?
Did York’s dread curse prevail so much with
heaven
That Henry’s death , my lovely Edward’s death ,
Their kingdom’s loss , my woeful banishment ,
Should all but answer for that peevish brat ?
Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven ?
Why then , give way , dull clouds , to my quick
curses !
Though not by war , by surfeit die your king ,
As ours by murder to make him a king .
Edward thy son , that now is
Prince of Wales ,
For Edward our son , that was Prince of Wales ,
Die in his youth by like untimely violence .
Thyself a queen , for me that was a queen ,
Outlive thy glory , like my wretched self .
Long mayst thou live to wail thy children’s death
And see another , as I see thee now ,
Decked in thy rights , as thou art stalled in mine .
Long die thy happy days before thy death ,
And , after many lengthened hours of grief ,
Die neither mother , wife , nor England’s queen . —
Rivers and Dorset , you were standers-by ,
And so wast thou , Lord Hastings , when my son
Was stabbed with bloody daggers . God I pray Him
That none of you may live his natural age ,
But by some unlooked accident cut off .

Richard III


Why , so I did , but looked for no reply .
O , let me make the period to my curse !

Richard III


And turns the sun to shade . Alas , alas ,
Witness my son , now in the shade of death ,
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up .
Your aerie buildeth in our aerie’s nest .
O God , that seest it , do not suffer it !
As it is won with blood , lost be it so .

Richard III


O princely Buckingham , I’ll kiss thy hand
In sign of league and amity with thee .
Now fair befall thee and thy noble house !
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood ,
Nor thou within the compass of my curse .

Richard III


I will not think but they ascend the sky ,
And there awake God’s gentle sleeping peace .
O Buckingham , take heed of
yonder dog !
Look when he fawns , he bites ; and when he bites ,
His venom tooth will rankle to the death .
Have not to do with him . Beware of him .
Sin , death , and hell have set their marks on him ,
And all their ministers attend on him .

Richard III


Why looks your Grace so heavily today ?

Richard III


Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower
And was embarked to cross to Burgundy ,
And in my company my brother Gloucester ,
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches . Thence we looked toward
England
And cited up a thousand heavy times ,
During the wars of York and Lancaster ,
That had befall’n us . As we paced along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches ,
Methought that Gloucester stumbled , and in falling
Struck me , that thought to stay him , overboard
Into the tumbling billows of the main .
O Lord , methought what pain it was to drown ,
What dreadful noise of waters in my ears ,
What sights of ugly death within my eyes .
Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wracks ,
A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon ,
Wedges of gold , great anchors , heaps of pearl ,
Inestimable stones , unvalued jewels ,
All scattered in the bottom of the sea .
Some lay in dead men’s skulls , and in the holes
Where eyes did once inhabit , there were crept —
As ’twere in scorn of eyes — reflecting gems ,
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by .

Richard III


Methought I had , and often did I strive
To yield the ghost , but still the envious flood
Stopped in my soul and would not let it forth
To find the empty , vast , and wand’ring air ,
But smothered it within my panting bulk ,
Who almost burst to belch it in the sea .

Richard III


No , no , my dream was lengthened after life .
O , then began the tempest to my soul .
I passed , methought , the melancholy flood ,
With that sour ferryman which poets write of ,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night .
The first that there did greet my stranger-soul
Was my great father-in-law , renownèd Warwick ,
Who spake aloud What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?
And so he vanished . Then came wand’ring by
A shadow like an angel , with bright hair
Dabbled in blood , and he shrieked out aloud
Clarence is come — false , fleeting , perjured
Clarence ,
That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury .
Seize on him , furies . Take him unto torment .
With that , methoughts , a legion of foul fiends
Environed me and howlèd in mine ears
Such hideous cries that with the very noise
I trembling waked , and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell ,
Such terrible impression made my dream .

Richard III


Thy voice is thunder , but thy looks are humble .

Richard III


My voice is now the King’s , my looks mine own .

Richard III


How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak !
Your eyes do menace me . Why look you pale ?
Who sent you hither ? Wherefore do you come ?

Richard III


Are you drawn forth among a world of men
To slay the innocent ? What is my offense ?
Where is the evidence that doth accuse me ?
What lawful quest have given their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge ? Or who pronounced
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence’ death
Before I be convict by course of law ?
To threaten me with death is most unlawful .
I charge you , as you hope to have redemption ,
By Christ’s dear blood shed for our grievous sins ,
That you depart , and lay no hands on me .
The deed you undertake is damnable .

Richard III


Who made thee then a bloody minister
When gallant-springing , brave Plantagenet ,
That princely novice , was struck dead by thee ?

Richard III


Not to relent is beastly , savage , devilish .
My friend , I spy some pity
in thy looks .
O , if thine eye be not a flatterer ,
Come thou on my side and entreat for me .
A begging prince what beggar pities not ?

Richard III

Look behind you , my lord .

Richard III


A bloody deed , and desperately dispatched .
How fain , like Pilate , would I wash my hands
Of this most grievous murder .

Richard III


Look I so pale , Lord Dorset , as the rest ?

Richard III


But he , poor man , by your first order died ,
And that a wingèd Mercury did bear .
Some tardy cripple bare the countermand ,
That came too lag to see him burièd .
God grant that some , less noble and less loyal ,
Nearer in bloody thoughts , and not in blood ,
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did ,
And yet go current from suspicion .

Richard III


This is the fruits of rashness . Marked you not
How that the guilty kindred of the Queen
Looked pale when they did hear of Clarence’ death ?
O , they did urge it still unto the King .
God will revenge it . Come , lords , will you go
To comfort Edward with our company ?

Richard III


Why do you look on us and shake your head ,
And call us orphans , wretches , castaways ,
If that our noble father were alive ?

Richard III


Ah , so much interest have I in thy sorrow
As I had title in thy noble husband .
I have bewept a worthy husband’s death
And lived with looking on his images ;
But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
Are cracked in pieces by malignant death ,
And I , for comfort , have but one false glass
That grieves me when I see my shame in him .
Thou art a widow , yet thou art a mother ,
And hast the comfort of thy children left ,
But death hath snatched my husband from mine
arms
And plucked two crutches from my feeble hands ,
Clarence and Edward . O , what cause have I ,
Thine being but a moiety of my moan ,
To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries !

Richard III


Then , masters , look to see a troublous world .

Richard III


When clouds are seen , wise men put on their
cloaks ;
When great leaves fall , then winter is at hand ;
When the sun sets , who doth not look for night ?
Untimely storms makes men expect a dearth .
All may be well ; but if God sort it so ,
’Tis more than we deserve or I expect .

Richard III


Truly , the hearts of men are full of fear .
You cannot reason almost with a man
That looks not heavily and full of dread .

Richard III


Ay me ! I see the ruin of my house .
The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind .
Insulting tyranny begins to jut
Upon the innocent and aweless throne .
Welcome , destruction , blood , and massacre .
I see , as in a map , the end of all .

Richard III


Accursèd and unquiet wrangling days ,
How many of you have mine eyes beheld ?
My husband lost his life to get the crown ,
And often up and down my sons were tossed
For me to joy , and weep , their gain and loss .
And being seated , and domestic broils
Clean overblown , themselves the conquerors
Make war upon themselves , brother to brother ,
Blood to blood , self against self . O , preposterous
And frantic outrage , end thy damnèd spleen ,
Or let me die , to look on Earth earth no more .

Richard III


Sweet prince , the untainted virtue of your years
Hath not yet dived into the world’s deceit ;
Nor more can you distinguish of a man
Than of his outward show , which , God He knows ,
Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart .
Those uncles which you want were dangerous .
Your Grace attended to their sugared words
But looked not on the poison of their hearts .
God keep you from them , and from such false
friends .

Richard III


Commend me to Lord William . Tell him , Catesby ,
His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
Tomorrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle ,
And bid my lord , for joy of this good news ,
Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more .

Richard III


Chop off his head . Something we will determine .
And look when I am king , claim thou of me
The earldom of Hereford , and all the movables
Whereof the King my brother was possessed .

Richard III


And look to have it yielded with all kindness .
Come , let us sup betimes , that afterwards
We may digest our complots in some form .

Richard III


But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence ,
That they which brought me in my master’s hate ,
I live to look upon their tragedy .
Well , Catesby , ere a fortnight make me older
I’ll send some packing that yet think not on ’t .

Richard III


’Tis a vile thing to die , my gracious lord ,
When men are unprepared and look not for it .

Richard III


God bless the Prince from all the pack of you !
A knot you are of damnèd bloodsuckers .

Richard III


O Pomfret , Pomfret ! O thou bloody prison ,
Fatal and ominous to noble peers !
Within the guilty closure of thy walls ,
Richard the Second here was hacked to death ,
And , for more slander to thy dismal seat ,
We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink .

Richard III


Then cursed she Richard . Then cursed she
Buckingham .
Then cursed she Hastings . O , remember , God ,
To hear her prayer for them as now for us !
And for my sister and her princely sons ,
Be satisfied , dear God , with our true blood ,
Which , as thou know’st , unjustly must be spilt .

Richard III


His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this
morning .
There’s some conceit or other likes him well
When that he bids good morrow with such spirit .
I think there’s never a man in Christendom
Can lesser hide his love or hate than he ,
For by his face straight shall you know his heart .

Richard III


Marry , that with no man here he is offended ,
For were he , he had shown it in his looks .

Richard III


Then be your eyes the witness of their evil .

Look how I am bewitched ! Behold mine arm
Is like a blasted sapling withered up ;
And this is Edward’s wife , that monstrous witch ,
Consorted with that harlot , strumpet Shore ,
That by their witchcraft thus have markèd me .

Richard III


If ? Thou protector of this damnèd strumpet ,
Talk’st thou to me of ifs ? Thou art a traitor . —
Off with his head . Now by Saint Paul I swear
I will not dine until I see the same . —
Lovell and Ratcliffe , look that it be done . —
The rest that love me , rise and follow me .

Richard III


Woe , woe for England ! Not a whit for me ,
For I , too fond , might have prevented this .
Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm ,
And I did scorn it and disdain to fly .
Three times today my foot-cloth horse did stumble ,
And started when he looked upon the Tower ,
As loath to bear me to the slaughterhouse .
O , now I need the priest that spake to me !
I now repent I told the pursuivant ,
As too triumphing , how mine enemies
Today at Pomfret bloodily were butchered ,
And I myself secure in grace and favor .
O Margaret , Margaret , now thy heavy curse
Is lighted on poor Hastings’ wretched head .

Richard III


O momentary grace of mortal men ,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God !
Who builds his hope in air of your good looks
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast ,
Ready with every nod to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep .

Richard III


O bloody Richard ! Miserable England ,
I prophesy the fearfull’st time to thee
That ever wretched age hath looked upon . —
Come , lead me to the block . Bear him my head .
They smile at me who shortly shall be dead .

Richard III


Tut , I can counterfeit the deep tragedian ,
Speak , and look back , and pry on every side ,
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw ,
Intending deep suspicion . Ghastly looks
Are at my service , like enforcèd smiles ,
And both are ready , in their offices ,
At any time to grace my stratagems .
But what , is Catesby gone ?

Richard III

Look to the drawbridge there !

Richard III

Catesby , o’erlook the walls .

Richard III


Look back ! Defend thee ! Here are enemies .

Richard III


I never looked for better at his hands
After he once fell in with Mistress Shore .
Yet had we not determined he should die
Until your Lordship came to see his end
( Which now the loving haste of these our friends ,
Something against our meanings , have prevented ) ,
Because , my lord , I would have had you heard
The traitor speak and timorously confess
The manner and the purpose of his treasons ,
That you might well have signified the same
Unto the citizens , who haply may
Misconster us in him , and wail his death .

Richard III


I go ; and towards three or four o’clock
Look for the news that the Guildhall affords .

Richard III


No . So God help me , they spake not a word
But , like dumb statues or breathing stones ,
Stared each on other and looked deadly pale ;
Which when I saw , I reprehended them
And asked the Mayor what meant this willful silence .
His answer was , the people were not used
To be spoke to but by the Recorder .
Then he was urged to tell my tale again :
Thus saith the Duke . Thus hath the Duke
inferred —
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself .
When he had done , some followers of mine own ,
At lower end of the hall , hurled up their caps ,
And some ten voices cried God save King Richard !
And thus I took the vantage of those few .
Thanks , gentle citizens and friends , quoth I .
This general applause and cheerful shout
Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard —
And even here brake off and came away .

Richard III


The Mayor is here at hand . Intend some fear ;
Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit .
And look you get a prayer book in your hand
And stand between two churchmen , good my lord ,
For on that ground I’ll make a holy descant .
And be not easily won to our requests .
Play the maid’s part : still answer nay , and take it .

Richard III


Know , then , it is your fault that you resign
The supreme seat , the throne majestical ,
The sceptered office of your ancestors ,
Your state of fortune , and your due of birth ,
The lineal glory of your royal house ,
To the corruption of a blemished stock ,
Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts ,
Which here we waken to our country’s good ,
The noble isle doth want her proper limbs —
Her face defaced with scars of infamy ,
Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants ,
And almost shouldered in the swallowing gulf
Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion ;
Which to recure , we heartily solicit
Your gracious self to take on you the charge
And kingly government of this your land ,
Not as Protector , steward , substitute ,
Or lowly factor for another’s gain ,
But as successively , from blood to blood ,
Your right of birth , your empery , your own .
For this , consorted with the citizens ,
Your very worshipful and loving friends ,
And by their vehement instigation ,
In this just cause come I to move your Grace .

Richard III


Let me but meet you ladies one hour hence ,
And I’ll salute your Grace of York as mother
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens .
Come , madam , you must straight to
Westminster ,
There to be crownèd Richard’s royal queen .

Richard III


No ? Why ? When he that is my husband now
Came to me as I followed Henry’s corse ,
When scarce the blood was well washed from his
hands
Which issued from my other angel husband
And that dear saint which then I weeping followed —
O , when , I say , I looked on Richard’s face ,
This was my wish : be thou , quoth I , accursed
For making me , so young , so old a widow ;
And , when thou wedd’st , let sorrow haunt thy bed ;
And be thy wife , if any be so mad ,
More miserable by the life of thee
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord’s death .
Lo , ere I can repeat this curse again ,
Within so small a time my woman’s heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words
And proved the subject of mine own soul’s curse ,
Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest ,
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep ,
But with his timorous dreams was still awaked .
Besides , he hates me for my father Warwick ,
And will , no doubt , shortly be rid of me .

Richard III


Stay , yet look back with me unto the Tower . —
Pity , you ancient stones , those tender babes
Whom envy hath immured within your walls —
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones .
Rude ragged nurse , old sullen playfellow
For tender princes , use my babies well .
So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell .

Richard III


I will converse with iron-witted fools
And unrespective boys . None are for me
That look into me with considerate eyes .
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect . —
Boy !

Richard III


Come hither , Catesby . Rumor it abroad
That Anne my wife is very grievous sick .
I will take order for her keeping close .
Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman ,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence’ daughter .
The boy is foolish , and I fear not him .
Look how thou dream’st ! I say again , give out
That Anne my queen is sick and like to die .
About it , for it stands me much upon
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me .

I must be married to my brother’s daughter ,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass .
Murder her brothers , and then marry her —
Uncertain way of gain . But I am in
So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin .
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye .



Is thy name Tyrrel ?

Richard III


Stanley , he is your wife’s son . Well , look unto it .

Richard III


Stanley , look to your wife . If she convey
Letters to Richmond , you shall answer it .

Richard III


The tyrannous and bloody act is done ,
The most arch deed of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land was guilty of .
Dighton and Forrest , who I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery ,
Albeit they were fleshed villains , bloody dogs ,
Melted with tenderness and mild compassion ,
Wept like two children in their deaths’ sad story .
O thus , quoth Dighton , lay the gentle babes .
Thus , thus , quoth Forrest , girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms .
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk ,
And in their summer beauty kissed each other .
A book of prayers on their pillow lay ,
Which once , quoth Forrest , almost changed my
mind ,
But , O , the devil — There the villain stopped ;
When Dighton thus told on : We smotherèd
The most replenishèd sweet work of nature
That from the prime creation e’er she framed .
Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse ;
They could not speak ; and so I left them both
To bear this tidings to the bloody king .



And here he comes . — All health , my sovereign lord .

Richard III


The son of Clarence have I pent up close ,
His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage ,
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom ,
And Anne my wife hath bid this world goodnight .
Now , for I know the Breton Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth , my brother’s daughter ,
And by that knot looks proudly on the crown ,
To her go I , a jolly thriving wooer .

Richard III


Dead life , blind sight , poor mortal living ghost ,
Woe’s scene , world’s shame , grave’s due by life
usurped ,
Brief abstract and record of tedious days ,
Rest thy unrest on England’s lawful earth ,
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood .

Richard III


Thou hadst a Clarence too , and Richard killed him .
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hellhound that doth hunt us all to death —
That dog , that had his teeth before his eyes ,
To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood ;
That excellent grand tyrant of the Earth earth ,
That reigns in gallèd eyes of weeping souls ;
That foul defacer of God’s handiwork
Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves .
O upright , just , and true-disposing God ,
How do I thank thee that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother’s body
And makes her pew-fellow with others’ moan !

Richard III


No , by the Holy Rood , thou know’st it well .
Thou cam’st on Earth earth to make the Earth earth my hell .
A grievous burden was thy birth to me ;
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy ;
Thy school days frightful , desp’rate , wild , and
furious ;
Thy prime of manhood daring , bold , and venturous ;
Thy age confirmed , proud , subtle , sly , and bloody ,
More mild , but yet more harmful , kind in hatred .
What comfortable hour canst thou name ,
That ever graced me with thy company ?

Richard III


Either thou wilt die by God’s just ordinance
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror ,
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
And nevermore behold thy face again .
Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse ,
Which in the day of battle tire thee more
Than all the complete armor that thou wear’st .
My prayers on the adverse party fight ,
And there the little souls of Edward’s children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
And promise them success and victory .
Bloody thou art ; bloody will be thy end .
Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend .

Richard III


I have no more sons of the royal blood
For thee to slaughter . For my daughters , Richard ,
They shall be praying nuns , not weeping queens ,
And therefore level not to hit their lives .

Richard III


Madam , so thrive I in my enterprise
And dangerous success of bloody wars
As I intend more good to you and yours
Than ever you or yours by me were harmed !

Richard III


Send to her , by the man that slew her brothers ,
A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave
Edward and York . Then haply will she weep .
Therefore present to her — as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father , steeped in Rutland’s blood —
A handkerchief , which say to her did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother’s body ,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal .
If this inducement move her not to love ,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds ;
Tell her thou mad’st away her uncle Clarence ,
Her uncle Rivers , ay , and for her sake
Mad’st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne .

Richard III


Nay , then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee ,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil .

Richard III


Look what is done cannot be now amended .
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes ,
Which after-hours gives leisure to repent .
If I did take the kingdom from your sons ,
To make amends I’ll give it to your daughter .
If I have killed the issue of your womb ,
To quicken your increase I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter .
A grandam’s name is little less in love
Than is the doting title of a mother .
They are as children but one step below ,
Even of your metal , of your very blood ,
Of all one pain , save for a night of groans
Endured of her for whom you bid like sorrow .
Your children were vexation to your youth ,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age .
The loss you have is but a son being king ,
And by that loss your daughter is made queen .
I cannot make you what amends I would ;
Therefore accept such kindness as I can .
Dorset your son , that with a fearful soul
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil ,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity .
The king that calls your beauteous daughter wife
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother .
Again shall you be mother to a king ,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repaired with double riches of content .
What , we have many goodly days to see !
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
Shall come again , transformed to orient pearl ,
Advantaging their love with interest
Of ten times double gain of happiness .
Go then , my mother ; to thy daughter go .
Make bold her bashful years with your experience ;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer’s tale ;
Put in her tender heart th’ aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty ; acquaint the Princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys ;
And when this arm of mine hath chastisèd
The petty rebel , dull-brained Buckingham ,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror’s bed ,
To whom I will retail my conquest won ,
And she shall be sole victoress , Caesar’s Caesar .

Richard III


Go then and muster men , but leave behind
Your son George Stanley . Look your heart be firm ,
Or else his head’s assurance is but frail .

Richard III


The news I have to tell your Majesty
Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters
Buckingham’s army is dispersed and scattered ,
And he himself wandered away alone ,
No man knows whither .

Richard III


Fellows in arms , and my most loving friends ,
Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny ,
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we marched on without impediment ,
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement .
The wretched , bloody , and usurping boar ,
That spoiled your summer fields and fruitful vines ,
Swills your warm blood like wash , and makes his
trough
In your embowelled bosoms — this foul swine
Is now even in the center of this isle ,
Near to the town of Leicester , as we learn .
From Tamworth thither is but one day’s march .
In God’s name , cheerly on , courageous friends ,
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
By this one bloody trial of sharp war .

Richard III


Here pitch our tent , even here in Bosworth field . —

My lord Lord of Surrey , why look you so sad ?

Richard III


My heart is ten times lighter than my looks .

Richard III

Send out a pursuivant-at-arms
To Stanley’s regiment . Bid him bring his power
Before sunrising , lest his son George fall
Into the blind cave of eternal night .
Fill me a bowl of wine . Give me a
watch .
Saddle white Surrey for the field tomorrow .
Look that my staves be sound and not too heavy . —
Ratcliffe .

Richard III


I , by attorney , bless thee from thy mother ,
Who prays continually for Richmond’s good .
So much for that . The silent hours steal on ,
And flaky darkness breaks within the east .
In brief , for so the season bids us be ,
Prepare thy battle early in the morning ,
And put thy fortune to the arbitrament
Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war .
I , as I may — that which I would I cannot —
With best advantage will deceive the time
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms .
But on thy side I may not be too forward ,
Lest , being seen , thy brother , tender George ,
Be executed in his father’s sight .
Farewell . The leisure and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
And ample interchange of sweet discourse ,
Which so-long-sundered friends should dwell upon .
God give us leisure for these rites of love !
Once more , adieu . Be valiant and speed well .

Richard III


Good lords , conduct him to his regiment .
I’ll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap ,
Lest leaden slumber peise me down tomorrow
When I should mount with wings of victory .
Once more , good night , kind lords and gentlemen .


O Thou , whose captain I account myself ,
Look on my forces with a gracious eye .
Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath ,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall
The usurping helmets of our adversaries .
Make us Thy ministers of chastisement ,
That we may praise Thee in the victory .
To Thee I do commend my watchful soul ,
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes .
Sleeping and waking , O , defend me still !

Richard III


Bloody and guilty , guiltily awake ,
And in a bloody battle end thy days .
Think on Lord Hastings . Despair and die !
Quiet , untroubled soul , awake , awake .
Arm , fight , and conquer for fair England’s sake .

Richard III


The first was I that helped thee to the crown ;
The last was I that felt thy tyranny .
O , in the battle think on Buckingham ,
And die in terror of thy guiltiness .
Dream on , dream on , of bloody deeds and death .
Fainting , despair ; despairing , yield thy breath .
I died for hope ere I could lend
thee aid ,
But cheer thy heart , and be thou not dismayed .
God and good angels fight on Richmond’s side ,
And Richard fall in height of all his pride .

Richard III


Why , then ’tis time to arm and give direction .

His oration to his soldiers .

More than I have said , loving countrymen ,
The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell upon . Yet remember this :
God , and our good cause , fight upon our side .
The prayers of holy saints and wrongèd souls ,
Like high-reared bulwarks , stand before our faces .
Richard except , those whom we fight against
Had rather have us win than him they follow .
For what is he they follow ? Truly , gentlemen ,
A bloody tyrant and a homicide ;
One raised in blood , and one in blood established ;
One that made means to come by what he hath ,
And slaughtered those that were the means to help
him ;
A base foul stone , made precious by the foil
Of England’s chair , where he is falsely set ;
One that hath ever been God’s enemy .
Then if you fight against God’s enemy ,
God will , in justice , ward you as his soldiers .
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down ,
You sleep in peace , the tyrant being slain .
If you do fight against your country’s foes ,
Your country’s fat shall pay your pains the hire .
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives ,
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors .
If you do free your children from the sword ,
Your children’s children quits it in your age .
Then , in the name of God and all these rights ,
Advance your standards ; draw your willing swords .
For me , the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this cold corpse on the Earth’s earth’s cold face ,
But if I thrive , the gain of my attempt
The least of you shall share his part thereof .
Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully .
God , and Saint George , Richmond , and victory !

Richard III


He was in the right , and so indeed it is .

Tell the clock there . Give me a calendar .

Who saw the sun today ?

Richard III

The sun will not be seen today .
The sky doth frown and lour upon our army .
I would these dewy tears were from the ground .
Not shine today ? Why , what is that to me
More than to Richmond , for the selfsame heaven
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him .

Richard III


Jockey of Norfolk , be not so bold .
For Dickon thy master is bought and sold .
A thing devisèd by the enemy . —
Go , gentlemen , every man unto his charge .
Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls .
Conscience is but a word that cowards use ,
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe .
Our strong arms be our conscience , swords our law .
March on . Join bravely . Let us to it pell mell ,
If not to heaven , then hand in hand to hell .

His oration to his army .

What shall I say more than I have inferred ?
Remember whom you are to cope withal ,
A sort of vagabonds , rascals , and runaways ,
A scum of Bretons and base lackey peasants ,
Whom their o’ercloyèd country vomits forth
To desperate adventures and assured destruction .
You sleeping safe , they bring to you unrest ;
You having lands and blessed with beauteous wives ,
They would restrain the one , distain the other .
And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow ,
Long kept in Brittany at our mother’s cost ,
A milksop , one that never in his life
Felt so much cold as overshoes in snow ?
Let’s whip these stragglers o’er the seas again ,
Lash hence these overweening rags of France ,
These famished beggars weary of their lives ,
Who , but for dreaming on this fond exploit ,
For want of means , poor rats , had hanged
themselves .
If we be conquered , let men conquer us ,
And not these bastard Bretons , whom our fathers
Have in their own land beaten , bobbed , and
thumped ,
And in record left them the heirs of shame .
Shall these enjoy our lands , lie with our wives ,
Ravish our daughters ?
Hark , I hear their drum .
Fight , gentlemen of England . — Fight , bold
yeomen . —
Draw , archers ; draw your arrows to the head . —
Spur your proud horses hard , and ride in blood .
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves . —



What says Lord Stanley ? Will he bring his power ?

Richard III


God and your arms be praised , victorious friends !
The day is ours ; the bloody dog is dead .

Richard III


Courageous Richmond , well hast thou acquit thee .
Lo , here this long-usurpèd royalty
From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
Have I plucked off , to grace thy brows withal .
Wear it , enjoy it , and make much of it .

Richard III


Inter their bodies as becomes their births .
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
That in submission will return to us .
And then , as we have ta’en the sacrament ,
We will unite the white rose and the red ;
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction ,
That long have frowned upon their enmity .
What traitor hears me and says not Amen ?
England hath long been mad and scarred herself :
The brother blindly shed the brother’s blood ;
The father rashly slaughtered his own son ;
The son , compelled , been butcher to the sire .
All this divided York and Lancaster ,
Divided , in their dire division .
O , now let Richmond and Elizabeth ,
The true succeeders of each royal house ,
By God’s fair ordinance conjoin together ,
And let their heirs , God , if Thy will be so ,
Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace ,
With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days .
Abate the edge of traitors , gracious Lord ,
That would reduce these bloody days again
And make poor England weep in streams of blood .
Let them not live to taste this land’s increase ,
That would with treason wound this fair land’s peace .
Now civil wounds are stopped , peace lives again .
That she may long live here , God say amen .

Romeo and Juliet


Two households , both alike in dignity
( In fair Verona , where we lay our scene ) ,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny ,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean .
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life ;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife .
The fearful passage of their death-marked love
And the continuance of their parents’ rage ,
Which , but their children’s end , naught could remove ,
Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage ;
The which , if you with patient ears attend ,
What here shall miss , our toil shall strive to mend .

Romeo and Juliet


What , art thou drawn among these heartless hinds ?
Turn thee , Benvolio ; look upon thy death .

Romeo and Juliet


Rebellious subjects , enemies to peace ,
Profaners of this neighbor-stainèd steel —
Will they not hear ? — What ho ! You men , you beasts ,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins :
On pain of torture , from those bloody hands
Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground ,
And hear the sentence of your movèd prince .
Three civil brawls bred of an airy word
By thee , old Capulet , and Montague ,
Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets
And made Verona’s ancient citizens
Cast by their grave-beseeming ornaments
To wield old partisans in hands as old ,
Cankered with peace , to part your cankered hate .
If ever you disturb our streets again ,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace .
For this time all the rest depart away .
You , Capulet , shall go along with me ,
And , Montague , come you this afternoon
To know our farther pleasure in this case ,
To old Free-town , our common judgment-place .
Once more , on pain of death , all men depart .

Romeo and Juliet


And too soon marred are those so early made .
Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she ;
She’s the hopeful lady of my earth .
But woo her , gentle Paris , get her heart ;
My will to her consent is but a part .
And , she agreed , within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice .
This night I hold an old accustomed feast ,
Whereto I have invited many a guest
Such as I love ; and you among the store ,
One more , most welcome , makes my number more .
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light .
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-appareled April on the heel
Of limping winter treads , even such delight
Among fresh fennel buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house . Hear all , all see ,
And like her most whose merit most shall be ;
Which , on more view of many , mine , being one ,
May stand in number , though in reck’ning none .
Come go with me .
Go , sirrah , trudge about
Through fair Verona , find those persons out
Whose names are written there , and to them say
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay .

Romeo and Juliet


I’ll look to like , if looking liking move .
But no more deep will I endart mine eye
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly .

Romeo and Juliet


A torch for me . Let wantons light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ,
For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase :
I’ll be a candle holder and look on ;
The game was ne’er so fair , and I am done .

Romeo and Juliet

Away with the joint stools , remove
the court cupboard , look to the plate . —
Good thou , save me a piece of marchpane , and , as
thou loves me , let the porter let in Susan Grindstone
and Nell . — Anthony and Potpan !

Romeo and Juliet

You are looked for and called for ,
asked for and sought for , in the great chamber .

Romeo and Juliet


Welcome , gentlemen . Ladies that have their toes
Unplagued with corns will walk a bout with
you . —
Ah , my mistresses , which of you all
Will now deny to dance ? She that makes dainty ,
She , I’ll swear , hath corns . Am I come near you
now ? —
Welcome , gentlemen . I have seen the day
That I have worn a visor and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear ,
Such as would please . ’Tis gone , ’tis gone , ’tis gone .
You are welcome , gentlemen . — Come , musicians ,
play .
A hall , a hall , give room ! — And foot it , girls . —
More light , you knaves , and turn the tables up ,
And quench the fire ; the room is grown too hot . —
Ah , sirrah , this unlooked-for sport comes well . —
Nay , sit , nay , sit , good cousin Capulet ,
For you and I are past our dancing days .
How long is ’t now since last yourself and I
Were in a mask ?

Romeo and Juliet


Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie ,
And young affection gapes to be his heir .
That fair for which love groaned for and would die ,
With tender Juliet matched , is now not fair .
Now Romeo is beloved and loves again ,
Alike bewitchèd by the charm of looks ,
But to his foe supposed he must complain ,
And she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks .
Being held a foe , he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear ,
And she as much in love , her means much less
To meet her new belovèd anywhere .
But passion lends them power , time means , to meet ,
Temp’ring extremities with extreme sweet .

Romeo and Juliet


Alack , there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords . Look thou but sweet ,
And I am proof against their enmity .

Romeo and Juliet


A thousand times the worse to want thy light .
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their
books ,
But love from love , toward school with heavy looks .

Romeo and Juliet

Well , sir , my mistress is the sweetest lady . Lord ,
Lord , when ’twas a little prating thing — O , there is
a nobleman in town , one Paris , that would fain lay
knife aboard , but she , good soul , had as lief see a
toad , a very toad , as see him . I anger her sometimes
and tell her that Paris is the properer man , but I’ll
warrant you , when I say so , she looks as pale as any
clout in the versal world . Doth not rosemary and
Romeo begin both with a letter ?

Romeo and Juliet


The clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse .
In half an hour she promised to return .
Perchance she cannot meet him . That’s not so .
O , she is lame ! Love’s heralds should be thoughts ,
Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams ,
Driving back shadows over louring hills .
Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw Love ,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings .
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day’s journey , and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours , yet she is not come .
Had she affections and warm youthful blood ,
She would be as swift in motion as a ball ;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love ,
And his to me .
But old folks , many feign as they were dead ,
Unwieldy , slow , heavy , and pale as lead .



O God , she comes ! — O , honey nurse , what news ?
Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man away .

Romeo and Juliet


Now , good sweet nurse — O Lord , why lookest thou
sad ?
Though news be sad , yet tell them merrily .
If good , thou shamest the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face .

Romeo and Juliet


Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell .
There stays a husband to make you a wife .
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks ;
They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news .
Hie you to church . I must another way ,
To fetch a ladder by the which your love
Must climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark .
I am the drudge and toil in your delight ,
But you shall bear the burden soon at night .
Go . I’ll to dinner . Hie you to the cell .

Romeo and Juliet


I pray thee , good Mercutio , let’s retire .
The day is hot , the Capels are abroad ,
And if we meet we shall not ’scape a brawl ,
For now , these hot days , is the mad blood stirring .

Romeo and Juliet

Consort ? What , dost thou make us minstrels ?
An thou make minstrels of us , look to hear
nothing but discords . Here’s my fiddlestick ; here’s
that shall make you dance . Zounds , consort !

Romeo and Juliet


Men’s eyes were made to look , and let them gaze .
I will not budge for no man’s pleasure , I .

Romeo and Juliet


Tybalt , my cousin , O my brother’s child !
O prince ! O cousin ! Husband ! O , the blood is spilled
Of my dear kinsman ! Prince , as thou art true ,
For blood of ours , shed blood of Montague .
O cousin , cousin !

Romeo and Juliet


Benvolio , who began this bloody fray ?

Romeo and Juliet


Tybalt , here slain , whom Romeo’s hand did slay —
Romeo , that spoke him fair , bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was , and urged withal
Your high displeasure . All this utterèd
With gentle breath , calm look , knees humbly bowed
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt , deaf to peace , but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast ,
Who , all as hot , turns deadly point to point
And , with a martial scorn , with one hand beats
Cold death aside and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt , whose dexterity
Retorts it . Romeo he cries aloud
Hold , friends ! Friends , part ! and swifter than his
tongue
His agile arm beats down their fatal points ,
And ’twixt them rushes ; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio , and then Tybalt fled .
But by and by comes back to Romeo ,
Who had but newly entertained revenge ,
And to ’t they go like lightning , for ere I
Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain ,
And , as he fell , did Romeo turn and fly .
This is the truth , or let Benvolio die .

Romeo and Juliet


Romeo slew him ; he slew Mercutio .
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe ?

Romeo and Juliet

And for that offense
Immediately we do exile him hence .
I have an interest in your hearts’ proceeding :
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding .
But I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine
That you shall all repent the loss of mine .
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses .
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses .
Therefore use none . Let Romeo hence in haste ,
Else , when he is found , that hour is his last .
Bear hence this body and attend our will .
Mercy but murders , pardoning those that kill .

Romeo and Juliet


Gallop apace , you fiery-footed steeds ,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging . Such a wagoner
As Phaëton would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately .
Spread thy close curtain , love-performing night ,
That runaways’ eyes may wink , and Romeo
Leap to these arms , untalked of and unseen .
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties , or , if love be blind ,
It best agrees with night . Come , civil night ,
Thou sober-suited matron all in black ,
And learn me how to lose a winning match
Played for a pair of stainless maidenhoods .
Hood my unmanned blood , bating in my cheeks ,
With thy black mantle till strange love grow bold ,
Think true love acted simple modesty .
Come , night . Come , Romeo . Come , thou day in
night ,
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back .
Come , gentle night ; come , loving black-browed
night ,
Give me my Romeo , and when I shall die ,
Take him and cut him out in little stars ,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun .
O , I have bought the mansion of a love
But not possessed it , and , though I am sold ,
Not yet enjoyed . So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them .



O , here comes my nurse ,
And she brings news , and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence . —
Now , nurse , what news ? What hast thou there ? The
cords
That Romeo bid thee fetch ?

Romeo and Juliet


I saw the wound . I saw it with mine eyes
( God save the mark ! ) here on his manly breast —
A piteous corse , a bloody piteous corse ,
Pale , pale as ashes , all bedaubed in blood ,
All in gore blood . I swoonèd at the sight .

Romeo and Juliet


O break , my heart , poor bankrout , break at once !
To prison , eyes ; ne’er look on liberty .
Vile earth to earth resign ; end motion here ,
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier .

Romeo and Juliet


O God , did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood ?

Romeo and Juliet


Ha , banishment ? Be merciful , say death ,
For exile hath more terror in his look ,
Much more than death . Do not say banishment .

Romeo and Juliet


’Tis torture and not mercy . Heaven is here
Where Juliet lives , and every cat and dog
And little mouse , every unworthy thing ,
Live here in heaven and may look on her ,
But Romeo may not . More validity ,
More honorable state , more courtship lives
In carrion flies than Romeo . They may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand
And steal immortal blessing from her lips ,
Who even in pure and vestal modesty
Still blush , as thinking their own kisses sin ;
But Romeo may not ; he is banishèd .
Flies may do this , but I from this must fly .
They are free men , but I am banishèd .
And sayest thou yet that exile is not death ?
Hadst thou no poison mixed , no sharp-ground
knife ,
No sudden mean of death , though ne’er so mean ,
But banishèd to kill me ? Banishèd ?
O friar , the damnèd use that word in hell .
Howling attends it . How hast thou the heart ,
Being a divine , a ghostly confessor ,
A sin absolver , and my friend professed ,
To mangle me with that word banishèd ?

Romeo and Juliet


Spakest thou of Juliet ? How is it with her ?
Doth not she think me an old murderer ,
Now I have stained the childhood of our joy
With blood removed but little from her own ?
Where is she ? And how doth she ? And what says
My concealed lady to our canceled love ?

Romeo and Juliet

Hold thy desperate hand !
Art thou a man ? Thy form cries out thou art .
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast .
Unseemly woman in a seeming man ,
And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both !
Thou hast amazed me . By my holy order ,
I thought thy disposition better tempered .
Hast thou slain Tybalt ? Wilt thou slay thyself ,
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives ,
By doing damnèd hate upon thyself ?
Why railest thou on thy birth , the heaven , and earth ,
Since birth and heaven and earth all three do meet
In thee at once , which thou at once wouldst lose ?
Fie , fie , thou shamest thy shape , thy love , thy wit ,
Which , like a usurer , abound’st in all
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape , thy love , thy wit .
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax ,
Digressing from the valor of a man ;
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury ,
Killing that love which thou hast vowed to cherish ;
Thy wit , that ornament to shape and love ,
Misshapen in the conduct of them both ,
Like powder in a skilless soldier’s flask ,
Is set afire by thine own ignorance ,
And thou dismembered with thine own defense .
What , rouse thee , man ! Thy Juliet is alive ,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead :
There art thou happy . Tybalt would kill thee ,
But thou slewest Tybalt : there art thou happy .
The law that threatened death becomes thy friend
And turns it to exile : there art thou happy .
A pack of blessings light upon thy back ;
Happiness courts thee in her best array ;
But , like a misbehaved and sullen wench ,
Thou pouts upon thy fortune and thy love .
Take heed , take heed , for such die miserable .
Go , get thee to thy love , as was decreed .
Ascend her chamber . Hence and comfort her .
But look thou stay not till the watch be set ,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ,
Where thou shalt live till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage , reconcile your friends ,
Beg pardon of the Prince , and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went’st forth in lamentation . —
Go before , nurse . Commend me to thy lady ,
And bid her hasten all the house to bed ,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto .
Romeo is coming .

Romeo and Juliet


Things have fallen out , sir , so unluckily
That we have had no time to move our daughter .
Look you , she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly ,
And so did I . Well , we were born to die .
’Tis very late . She’ll not come down tonight .
I promise you , but for your company ,
I would have been abed an hour ago .

Romeo and Juliet


It was the lark , the herald of the morn ,
No nightingale . Look , love , what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east .
Night’s candles are burnt out , and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops .
I must be gone and live , or stay and die .

Romeo and Juliet


Your lady mother is coming to your chamber .
The day is broke ; be wary ; look about .

Romeo and Juliet


O God , I have an ill-divining soul !
Methinks I see thee , now thou art so low ,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb .
Either my eyesight fails or thou lookest pale .

Romeo and Juliet


And trust me , love , in my eye so do you .
Dry sorrow drinks our blood . Adieu , adieu .

Romeo and Juliet


Well , well , thou hast a careful father , child ,
One who , to put thee from thy heaviness ,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy
That thou expects not , nor I looked not for .

Romeo and Juliet


When the sun sets , the earth doth drizzle dew ,
But for the sunset of my brother’s son
It rains downright .
How now , a conduit , girl ? What , still in tears ?
Evermore show’ring ? In one little body
Thou counterfeits a bark , a sea , a wind .
For still thy eyes , which I may call the sea ,
Do ebb and flow with tears ; the bark thy body is ,
Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds thy sighs ,
Who , raging with thy tears and they with them ,
Without a sudden calm , will overset
Thy tempest-tossèd body . — How now , wife ?
Have you delivered to her our decree ?

Romeo and Juliet


Hang thee , young baggage , disobedient wretch !
I tell thee what : get thee to church o’ Thursday ,
Or never after look me in the face .
Speak not ; reply not ; do not answer me .
My fingers itch . — Wife , we scarce thought us
blessed
That God had lent us but this only child ,
But now I see this one is one too much ,
And that we have a curse in having her .
Out on her , hilding .

Romeo and Juliet

God’s bread , it makes me mad .
Day , night , hour , tide , time , work , play ,
Alone , in company , still my care hath been
To have her matched . And having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage ,
Of fair demesnes , youthful , and nobly ligned ,
Stuffed , as they say , with honorable parts ,
Proportioned as one’s thought would wish a man —
And then to have a wretched puling fool ,
A whining mammet , in her fortune’s tender ,
To answer I’ll not wed . I cannot love .
I am too young . I pray you , pardon me .
But , an you will not wed , I’ll pardon you !
Graze where you will , you shall not house with me .
Look to ’t ; think on ’t . I do not use to jest .
Thursday is near . Lay hand on heart ; advise .
An you be mine , I’ll give you to my friend .
An you be not , hang , beg , starve , die in the streets ,
For , by my soul , I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee ,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good .
Trust to ’t ; bethink you . I’ll not be forsworn .

Romeo and Juliet


I would I knew not why it should be slowed . —
Look , sir , here comes the lady toward my cell .

Romeo and Juliet


Tell me not , friar , that thou hearest of this ,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it .
If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help ,
Do thou but call my resolution wise ,
And with this knife I’ll help it presently .

God joined my heart and Romeo’s , thou our hands ;
And ere this hand , by thee to Romeo’s sealed ,
Shall be the label to another deed ,
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another , this shall slay them both .
Therefore out of thy long-experienced time
Give me some present counsel , or , behold ,
’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire , arbitrating that
Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honor bring .
Be not so long to speak . I long to die
If what thou speak’st speak not of remedy .

Romeo and Juliet


Hold , then . Go home ; be merry ; give consent
To marry Paris . Wednesday is tomorrow .
Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone ;
Let not the Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber .

Take thou this vial , being then in bed ,
And this distilling liquor drink thou off ;
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humor ; for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress , but surcease .
No warmth , no breath shall testify thou livest .
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes , thy eyes’ windows fall
Like death when he shuts up the day of life .
Each part , deprived of supple government ,
Shall , stiff and stark and cold , appear like death ,
And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt continue two and forty hours
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep .
Now , when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed , there art thou dead .
Then , as the manner of our country is ,
In thy best robes uncovered on the bier
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie .
In the meantime , against thou shalt awake ,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift ,
And hither shall he come , and he and I
Will watch thy waking , and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua .
And this shall free thee from this present shame ,
If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear
Abate thy valor in the acting it .

Romeo and Juliet


See where she comes from shrift with merry look .

Romeo and Juliet


Farewell . — God knows when we shall meet again .
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
That almost freezes up the heat of life .
I’ll call them back again to comfort me . —
Nurse ! — What should she do here ?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone .
Come , vial .
What if this mixture do not work at all ?
Shall I be married then tomorrow morning ?

No , no , this shall forbid it . Lie thou there .
What if it be a poison which the Friar
Subtly hath ministered to have me dead ,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonored
Because he married me before to Romeo ?
I fear it is . And yet methinks it should not ,
For he hath still been tried a holy man .
How if , when I am laid into the tomb ,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me ? There’s a fearful point .
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault ,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in ,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes ?
Or , if I live , is it not very like
The horrible conceit of death and night ,
Together with the terror of the place —
As in a vault , an ancient receptacle
Where for this many hundred years the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are packed ;
Where bloody Tybalt , yet but green in earth ,
Lies fest’ring in his shroud ; where , as they say ,
At some hours in the night spirits resort —
Alack , alack , is it not like that I ,
So early waking , what with loathsome smells ,
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth ,
That living mortals , hearing them , run mad —
O , if I wake , shall I not be distraught ,
Environèd with all these hideous fears ,
And madly play with my forefathers’ joints ,
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ,
And , in this rage , with some great kinsman’s bone ,
As with a club , dash out my desp’rate brains ?
O look , methinks I see my cousin’s ghost
Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body
Upon a rapier’s point ! Stay , Tybalt , stay !
Romeo , Romeo , Romeo ! Here’s drink . I drink to
thee .

Romeo and Juliet


Come , stir , stir , stir ! The second cock hath crowed .
The curfew bell hath rung . ’Tis three o’clock . —
Look to the baked meats , good Angelica .
Spare not for cost .

Romeo and Juliet

Look , look ! — O heavy day !

Romeo and Juliet


O me ! O me ! My child , my only life ,
Revive , look up , or I will die with thee .
Help , help ! Call help .

Romeo and Juliet


Ha , let me see her ! Out , alas , she’s cold .
Her blood is settled , and her joints are stiff .
Life and these lips have long been separated .
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field .

Romeo and Juliet


I do beseech you , sir , have patience .
Your looks are pale and wild and do import
Some misadventure .

Romeo and Juliet

No matter . Get thee gone ,
And hire those horses . I’ll be with thee straight .

Well , Juliet , I will lie with thee tonight .
Let’s see for means . O mischief , thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men .
I do remember an apothecary
( And hereabouts he dwells ) which late I noted
In tattered weeds , with overwhelming brows ,
Culling of simples . Meager were his looks .
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones .
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung ,
An alligator stuffed , and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes ; and about his shelves ,
A beggarly account of empty boxes ,
Green earthen pots , bladders , and musty seeds ,
Remnants of packthread , and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scattered to make up a show .
Noting this penury , to myself I said
An if a man did need a poison now ,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua ,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him .
O , this same thought did but forerun my need ,
And this same needy man must sell it me .
As I remember , this should be the house .
Being holiday , the beggar’s shop is shut . —
What ho , Apothecary !

Romeo and Juliet


Give me thy torch , boy . Hence and stand aloof .
Yet put it out , for I would not be seen .
Under yond yew trees lay thee all along ,
Holding thy ear close to the hollow ground .
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread
( Being loose , unfirm , with digging up of graves )
But thou shalt hear it . Whistle then to me
As signal that thou hearest something approach .
Give me those flowers . Do as I bid thee . Go .

Romeo and Juliet


Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron .
Hold , take this letter . Early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father .
Give me the light . Upon thy life I charge thee ,
Whate’er thou hearest or seest , stand all aloof
And do not interrupt me in my course .
Why I descend into this bed of death
Is partly to behold my lady’s face ,
But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring , a ring that I must use
In dear employment . Therefore hence , begone .
But , if thou , jealous , dost return to pry
In what I farther shall intend to do ,
By heaven , I will tear thee joint by joint
And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs .
The time and my intents are savage-wild ,
More fierce and more inexorable far
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea .

Romeo and Juliet


For all this same , I’ll hide me hereabout .
His looks I fear , and his intents I doubt .

Romeo and Juliet


In faith , I will . — Let me peruse this face .
Mercutio’s kinsman , noble County Paris !
What said my man when my betossèd soul
Did not attend him as we rode ? I think
He told me Paris should have married Juliet .
Said he not so ? Or did I dream it so ?
Or am I mad , hearing him talk of Juliet ,
To think it was so ? — O , give me thy hand ,
One writ with me in sour misfortune’s book !
I’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave . —

A grave ? O , no . A lantern , slaughtered youth ,
For here lies Juliet , and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light . —
Death , lie thou there , by a dead man interred .

How oft when men are at the point of death
Have they been merry , which their keepers call
A light’ning before death ! O , how may I
Call this a light’ning ? — O my love , my wife ,
Death , that hath sucked the honey of thy breath ,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty .
Thou art not conquered . Beauty’s ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks ,
And death’s pale flag is not advancèd there . —
Tybalt , liest thou there in thy bloody sheet ?
O , what more favor can I do to thee
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain
To sunder his that was thine enemy ?
Forgive me , cousin . — Ah , dear Juliet ,
Why art thou yet so fair ? Shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous ,
And that the lean abhorrèd monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour ?
For fear of that I still will stay with thee
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again . Here , here will I remain
With worms that are thy chambermaids . O , here
Will I set up my everlasting rest
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh ! Eyes , look your last .
Arms , take your last embrace . And , lips , O , you
The doors of breath , seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death .

Come , bitter conduct , come , unsavory guide !
Thou desperate pilot , now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark !
Here’s to my love . O true apothecary ,
Thy drugs are quick . Thus with a kiss I die .

Romeo and Juliet

I dare not , sir .
My master knows not but I am gone hence ,
And fearfully did menace me with death
If I did stay to look on his intents .

Romeo and Juliet


Romeo ! —
Alack , alack , what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulcher ?
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolored by this place of peace ?
Romeo ! O , pale ! Who else ? What , Paris too ?
And steeped in blood ? Ah , what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance !
The lady stirs .

Romeo and Juliet


The ground is bloody . — Search about the
churchyard .
Go , some of you ; whoe’er you find , attach .

Pitiful sight ! Here lies the County slain ,
And Juliet bleeding , warm , and newly dead ,
Who here hath lain this two days burièd . —
Go , tell the Prince . Run to the Capulets .
Raise up the Montagues . Some others search .

We see the ground whereon these woes do lie ,
But the true ground of all these piteous woes
We cannot without circumstance descry .

Romeo and Juliet


O heavens ! O wife , look how our daughter bleeds !
This dagger hath mista’en , for , lo , his house
Is empty on the back of Montague ,
And it mis-sheathèd in my daughter’s bosom .

Romeo and Juliet

Look , and thou shalt see .

Romeo and Juliet


I will be brief , for my short date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious tale .
Romeo , there dead , was husband to that Juliet ,
And she , there dead , that Romeo’s faithful wife .
I married them , and their stol’n marriage day
Was Tybalt’s doomsday , whose untimely death
Banished the new-made bridegroom from this city ,
For whom , and not for Tybalt , Juliet pined .
You , to remove that siege of grief from her ,
Betrothed and would have married her perforce
To County Paris . Then comes she to me ,
And with wild looks bid me devise some mean
To rid her from this second marriage ,
Or in my cell there would she kill herself .
Then gave I her ( so tutored by my art )
A sleeping potion , which so took effect
As I intended , for it wrought on her
The form of death . Meantime I writ to Romeo
That he should hither come as this dire night
To help to take her from her borrowed grave ,
Being the time the potion’s force should cease .
But he which bore my letter , Friar John ,
Was stayed by accident , and yesternight
Returned my letter back . Then all alone
At the prefixèd hour of her waking
Came I to take her from her kindred’s vault ,
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo .
But when I came , some minute ere the time
Of her awakening , here untimely lay
The noble Paris and true Romeo dead .
She wakes , and I entreated her come forth
And bear this work of heaven with patience .
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb ,
And she , too desperate , would not go with me
But , as it seems , did violence on herself .
All this I know , and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy . And if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault , let my old life
Be sacrificed some hour before his time
Unto the rigor of severest law .

Romeo and Juliet


Give me the letter . I will look on it . —

Where is the County’s page , that raised the
watch ? —
Sirrah , what made your master in this place ?

Romeo and Juliet


He came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave
And bid me stand aloof , and so I did .
Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb ,
And by and by my master drew on him ,
And then I ran away to call the watch .

Romeo and Juliet


A glooming peace this morning with it brings .
The sun for sorrow will not show his head .
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things .
Some shall be pardoned , and some punishèd .
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo .

The Comedy of Errors


Merchant of Syracusa , plead no more .
I am not partial to infringe our laws .
The enmity and discord which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants , our well-dealing countrymen ,
Who , wanting guilders to redeem their lives ,
Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods ,
Excludes all pity from our threat’ning looks .
For since the mortal and intestine jars
’Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us ,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed ,
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves ,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns .
Nay , more , if any born at Ephesus
Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs ;
Again , if any Syracusian born
Come to the bay of Ephesus , he dies ,
His goods confiscate to the Duke’s dispose ,
Unless a thousand marks be levièd
To quit the penalty and to ransom him .
Thy substance , valued at the highest rate ,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks ;
Therefore by law thou art condemned to die .

The Comedy of Errors


Look when I serve him so , he takes it ill .

The Comedy of Errors


His company must do his minions grace ,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look .
Hath homely age th’ alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek ? Then he hath wasted it .
Are my discourses dull ? Barren my wit ?
If voluble and sharp discourse be marred ,
Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard .
Do their gay vestments his affections bait ?
That’s not my fault ; he’s master of my state .
What ruins are in me that can be found
By him not ruined ? Then is he the ground
Of my defeatures . My decayèd fair
A sunny look of his would soon repair .
But , too unruly deer , he breaks the pale
And feeds from home . Poor I am but his stale .

The Comedy of Errors


Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool and chat with you ,
Your sauciness will jest upon my love
And make a common of my serious hours .
When the sun shines , let foolish gnats make sport ,
But creep in crannies when he hides his beams .
If you will jest with me , know my aspect ,
And fashion your demeanor to my looks ,
Or I will beat this method in your sconce .

The Comedy of Errors


Ay , ay , Antipholus , look strange and frown .
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects .
I am not Adriana , nor thy wife .
The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow
That never words were music to thine ear ,
That never object pleasing in thine eye ,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand ,
That never meat sweet-savored in thy taste ,
Unless I spake , or looked , or touched , or carved to
thee .
How comes it now , my husband , O , how comes it
That thou art then estrangèd from thyself ?
Thyself I call it , being strange to me ,
That , undividable , incorporate ,
Am better than thy dear self’s better part .
Ah , do not tear away thyself from me !
For know , my love , as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf ,
And take unmingled thence that drop again
Without addition or diminishing ,
As take from me thyself and not me too .
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick ,
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious
And that this body , consecrate to thee ,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate !
Wouldst thou not spit at me , and spurn at me ,
And hurl the name of husband in my face ,
And tear the stained skin off my harlot brow ,
And from my false hand cut the wedding ring ,
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ?
I know thou canst , and therefore see thou do it .
I am possessed with an adulterate blot ;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust ;
For if we two be one , and thou play false ,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh ,
Being strumpeted by thy contagion .
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ,
I live distained , thou undishonorèd .

The Comedy of Errors


And may it be that you have quite forgot
A husband’s office ? Shall , Antipholus ,
Even in the spring of love thy love-springs rot ?
Shall love , in building , grow so ruinous ?
If you did wed my sister for her wealth ,
Then for her wealth’s sake use her with more
kindness .
Or if you like elsewhere , do it by stealth —
Muffle your false love with some show of
blindness .
Let not my sister read it in your eye ;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame’s orator ;
Look sweet , speak fair , become disloyalty ;
Apparel vice like virtue’s harbinger .
Bear a fair presence , though your heart be tainted .
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint .
Be secret-false . What need she be acquainted ?
What simple thief brags of his own attaint ?
’Tis double wrong to truant with your bed
And let her read it in thy looks at board .
Shame hath a bastard fame , well managèd ;
Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word .
Alas , poor women , make us but believe ,
Being compact of credit , that you love us .
Though others have the arm , show us the sleeve ;
We in your motion turn , and you may move us .
Then , gentle brother , get you in again .
Comfort my sister , cheer her , call her wife .
’Tis holy sport to be a little vain
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife .

The Comedy of Errors


Sweet mistress — what your name is else I know not ,
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine —
Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
Than our Earth’s earth’s wonder , more than Earth earth divine .
Teach me , dear creature , how to think and speak .
Lay open to my earthy gross conceit ,
Smothered in errors , feeble , shallow , weak ,
The folded meaning of your words’ deceit .
Against my soul’s pure truth why labor you
To make it wander in an unknown field ?
Are you a god ? Would you create me new ?
Transform me , then , and to your power I’ll yield .
But if that I am I , then well I know
Your weeping sister is no wife of mine ,
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe .
Far more , far more , to you do I decline .
O , train me not , sweet mermaid , with thy note
To drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears .
Sing , Siren , for thyself , and I will dote .
Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs ,
And as a bed I’ll take them and there lie ,
And in that glorious supposition think
He gains by death that hath such means to die .
Let love , being light , be drownèd if she sink .

The Comedy of Errors


As good to wink , sweet love , as look on night .

The Comedy of Errors

No , sir , ’tis in grain ; Noah’s flood
could not do it .

The Comedy of Errors

I looked for the chalky cliffs , but
I could find no whiteness in them . But I guess it
stood in her chin , by the salt rheum that ran
between France and it .

The Comedy of Errors

O , sir , I did not look so low . To
conclude : this drudge or diviner laid claim to me ,
called me Dromio , swore I was assured to her , told
me what privy marks I had about me , as the mark
of my shoulder , the mole in my neck , the great wart
on my left arm , that I , amazed , ran from her as a
witch .
And , I think , if my breast had not been made of
faith , and my heart of steel ,
She had transformed me to a curtal dog and made
me turn i’ th’ wheel .

The Comedy of Errors


Ah , Luciana , did he tempt thee so ?
Might’st thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest , yea or no ?
Looked he or red or pale , or sad or merrily ?
What observation mad’st thou in this case
Of his heart’s meteors tilting in his face ?

The Comedy of Errors

Some devils ask but the parings
of one’s nail , a rush , a hair , a drop of blood , a pin , a
nut , a cherrystone ; but she , more covetous , would
have a chain . Master , be wise . An if you give it her ,
the devil will shake her chain and fright us with it .

The Comedy of Errors


Alas , how fiery and how sharp he looks !

The Comedy of Errors


Mistress , both man and master is possessed .
I know it by their pale and deadly looks .
They must be bound and laid in some dark room .

The Comedy of Errors


Ay me , poor man , how pale and wan he looks !

The Comedy of Errors


God for Thy mercy , they are loose again !

The Comedy of Errors


O mistress , mistress , shift and save yourself .
My master and his man are both broke loose ,
Beaten the maids a-row , and bound the doctor ,
Whose beard they have singed off with brands of
fire ,
And ever as it blazed they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair .
My master preaches patience to him , and the while
His man with scissors nicks him like a fool ;
And sure , unless you send some present help ,
Between them they will kill the conjurer .

The Comedy of Errors


Justice , most gracious duke . O , grant me justice ,
Even for the service that long since I did thee
When I bestrid thee in the wars and took
Deep scars to save thy life . Even for the blood
That then I lost for thee , now grant me justice .

The Comedy of Errors


Ne’er may I look on day nor sleep on night
But she tells to your Highness simple truth .

The Comedy of Errors


My liege , I am advisèd what I say ,
Neither disturbed with the effect of wine ,
Nor heady-rash provoked with raging ire ,
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad .
This woman locked me out this day from dinner .
That goldsmith there , were he not packed with her ,
Could witness it , for he was with me then ,
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain ,
Promising to bring it to the Porpentine ,
Where Balthasar and I did dine together .
Our dinner done and he not coming thither ,
I went to seek him . In the street I met him ,
And in his company that gentleman .

There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down
That I this day of him received the chain ,
Which , God He knows , I saw not ; for the which
He did arrest me with an officer .
I did obey and sent my peasant home
For certain ducats . He with none returned .
Then fairly I bespoke the officer
To go in person with me to my house .
By th’ way we met
My wife , her sister , and a rabble more
Of vile confederates . Along with them
They brought one Pinch , a hungry , lean-faced
villain ,
A mere anatomy , a mountebank ,
A threadbare juggler , and a fortune-teller ,
A needy , hollow-eyed , sharp-looking wretch ,
A living dead man . This pernicious slave ,
Forsooth , took on him as a conjurer ,
And , gazing in mine eyes , feeling my pulse ,
And with no face ( as ’twere ) outfacing me ,
Cries out I was possessed . Then all together
They fell upon me , bound me , bore me thence ,
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man , both bound together ,
Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder ,
I gained my freedom and immediately
Ran hither to your Grace , whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames and great indignities .

The Comedy of Errors


Why look you strange on me ? You know me well .

The Comedy of Errors


Not know my voice ! O time’s extremity ,
Hast thou so cracked and splitted my poor tongue
In seven short years that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares ?
Though now this grainèd face of mine be hid
In sap-consuming winter’s drizzled snow ,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up ,
Yet hath my night of life some memory ,
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left ,
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear .
All these old witnesses — I cannot err —
Tell me thou art my son Antipholus .

The Comedy of Errors


Whoever bound him , I will loose his bonds
And gain a husband by his liberty . —
Speak , old Egeon , if thou be’st the man
That hadst a wife once called Emilia ,
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons .
O , if thou be’st the same Egeon , speak ,
And speak unto the same Emilia .

The Comedy of Errors


He speaks to me . — I am your master , Dromio .
Come , go with us . We’ll look to that anon .
Embrace thy brother there . Rejoice with him .

The Merchant of Venice


Your mind is tossing on the ocean ,
There where your argosies with portly sail
( Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood ,
Or , as it were , the pageants of the sea )
Do overpeer the petty traffickers
That curtsy to them , do them reverence ,
As they fly by them with their woven wings .

The Merchant of Venice


You look not well , Signior Antonio .
You have too much respect upon the world .
They lose it that do buy it with much care .
Believe me , you are marvelously changed .

The Merchant of Venice

Let me play the fool .
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ,
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans .
Why should a man whose blood is warm within
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ?
Sleep when he wakes ? And creep into the jaundice
By being peevish ? I tell thee what , Antonio
( I love thee , and ’tis my love that speaks ) :
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond
And do a willful stillness entertain
With purpose to be dressed in an opinion
Of wisdom , gravity , profound conceit ,
As who should say I am Sir Oracle ,
And when I ope my lips , let no dog bark .
O my Antonio , I do know of these
That therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing , when , I am very sure ,
If they should speak , would almost damn those ears
Which , hearing them , would call their brothers
fools .
I’ll tell thee more of this another time .
But fish not with this melancholy bait
For this fool gudgeon , this opinion . —
Come , good Lorenzo . — Fare you well a while .
I’ll end my exhortation after dinner .

The Merchant of Venice

If to do were as easy as to know what were
good to do , chapels had been churches , and poor
men’s cottages princes’ palaces . It is a good divine
that follows his own instructions . I can easier teach
twenty what were good to be done than to be one of
the twenty to follow mine own teaching . The brain
may devise laws for the blood , but a hot temper
leaps o’er a cold decree : such a hare is madness the
youth , to skip o’er the meshes of good counsel the
cripple . But this reasoning is not in the fashion to
choose me a husband . O , me , the word choose ! I
may neither choose who I would nor refuse who I
dislike . So is the will of a living daughter curbed by
the will of a dead father . Is it not hard , Nerissa , that
I cannot choose one , nor refuse none ?

The Merchant of Venice

True , madam . He , of all the men that ever my
foolish eyes looked upon , was the best deserving a
fair lady .

The Merchant of Venice


How like a fawning publican he looks !
I hate him for he is a Christian ,
But more for that in low simplicity
He lends out money gratis and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice .
If I can catch him once upon the hip ,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him .
He hates our sacred nation , and he rails ,
Even there where merchants most do congregate ,
On me , my bargains , and my well-won thrift ,
Which he calls interest . Cursèd be my tribe
If I forgive him !

The Merchant of Venice

Why , look you how you storm !
I would be friends with you and have your love ,
Forget the shames that you have stained me with ,
Supply your present wants , and take no doit
Of usance for my moneys , and you’ll not hear me !
This is kind I offer .

The Merchant of Venice


Mislike me not for my complexion ,
The shadowed livery of the burnished sun ,
To whom I am a neighbor and near bred .
Bring me the fairest creature northward born ,
Where Phoebus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles ,
And let us make incision for your love
To prove whose blood is reddest , his or mine .
I tell thee , lady , this aspect of mine
Hath feared the valiant ; by my love I swear
The best regarded virgins of our clime
Have loved it too . I would not change this hue
Except to steal your thoughts , my gentle queen .

The Merchant of Venice


In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes ;
Besides , the lott’ry of my destiny
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing .
But if my father had not scanted me
And hedged me by his wit to yield myself
His wife who wins me by that means I told you ,
Yourself , renownèd prince , then stood as fair
As any comer I have looked on yet
For my affection .

The Merchant of Venice

Even for that I thank you .
Therefore I pray you lead me to the caskets
To try my fortune . By this scimitar
That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince ,
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman ,
I would o’erstare the sternest eyes that look ,
Outbrave the heart most daring on the Earth earth ,
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear ,
Yea , mock the lion when he roars for prey ,
To win thee , lady . But , alas the while !
If Hercules and Lychas play at dice
Which is the better man , the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand ;
So is Alcides beaten by his page ,
And so may I , blind Fortune leading me ,
Miss that which one unworthier may attain ,
And die with grieving .

The Merchant of Venice

Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post ,
a staff or a prop ? — Do you know me , father ?

The Merchant of Venice

Her name is Margery , indeed . I’ll be sworn if
thou be Lancelet , thou art mine own flesh and
blood . Lord worshiped might He be , what a beard
hast thou got ! Thou hast got more hair on thy chin
than Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail .

The Merchant of Venice

Signior Bassanio , hear me .
If I do not put on a sober habit ,
Talk with respect , and swear but now and then ,
Wear prayer books in my pocket , look demurely ,
Nay more , while grace is saying , hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat , and sigh and say amen ,
Use all the observance of civility
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his grandam , never trust me more .

The Merchant of Venice

Farewell , good Lancelet .

Alack , what heinous sin is it in me
To be ashamed to be my father’s child ?
But though I am a daughter to his blood ,
I am not to his manners . O Lorenzo ,
If thou keep promise , I shall end this strife ,
Become a Christian and thy loving wife .

The Merchant of Venice


I am bid forth to supper , Jessica .
There are my keys . — But wherefore should I go ?
I am not bid for love . They flatter me .
But yet I’ll go in hate , to feed upon
The prodigal Christian . — Jessica , my girl ,
Look to my house . — I am right loath to go .
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest ,
For I did dream of money bags tonight .

The Merchant of Venice

I will go before , sir . Mistress ,
look out at window for all this .
There will come a Christian by
Will be worth a Jewess’ eye .

The Merchant of Venice


Here , catch this casket ; it is worth the pains .
I am glad ’tis night , you do not look on me ,
For I am much ashamed of my exchange .
But love is blind , and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit ,
For if they could , Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformèd to a boy .

The Merchant of Venice


Let good Antonio look he keep his day ,
Or he shall pay for this .

The Merchant of Venice


And so have I addressed me . Fortune now
To my heart’s hope ! Gold , silver , and base lead .
Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he
hath .
You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard .
What says the golden chest ? Ha , let me see :
Who chooseth me shall gain what many men
desire .
What many men desire — that many may be
meant
By the fool multitude that choose by show ,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach ,
Which pries not to th’ interior , but like the martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall ,
Even in the force and road of casualty .
I will not choose what many men desire ,
Because I will not jump with common spirits
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes .
Why , then , to thee , thou silver treasure house .
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear .
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he
deserves .
And well said , too ; for who shall go about
To cozen fortune and be honorable
Without the stamp of merit ? Let none presume
To wear an undeservèd dignity .
O , that estates , degrees , and offices
Were not derived corruptly , and that clear honor
Were purchased by the merit of the wearer !
How many then should cover that stand bare ?
How many be commanded that command ?
How much low peasantry would then be gleaned
From the true seed of honor ? And how much honor
Picked from the chaff and ruin of the times ,
To be new varnished ? Well , but to my choice .
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he
deserves .
I will assume desert . Give me a key for this ,

And instantly unlock my fortunes here .

The Merchant of Venice

My own flesh and blood to rebel !

The Merchant of Venice

I say my daughter is my flesh and my blood .

The Merchant of Venice

There is more difference between thy flesh
and hers than between jet and ivory , more between
your bloods than there is between red wine and
Rhenish . But tell us , do you hear whether Antonio
have had any loss at sea or no ?

The Merchant of Venice

There I have another bad match ! A bankrout ,
a prodigal , who dare scarce show his head on
the Rialto , a beggar that was used to come so smug
upon the mart ! Let him look to his bond . He was
wont to call me usurer ; let him look to his bond . He
was wont to lend money for a Christian cur’sy ; let
him look to his bond .

The Merchant of Venice


I pray you tarry , pause a day or two
Before you hazard , for in choosing wrong
I lose your company ; therefore forbear a while .
There’s something tells me ( but it is not love )
I would not lose you , and you know yourself
Hate counsels not in such a quality .
But lest you should not understand me well
( And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought )
I would detain you here some month or two
Before you venture for me . I could teach you
How to choose right , but then I am forsworn .
So will I never be . So may you miss me .
But if you do , you’ll make me wish a sin ,
That I had been forsworn . Beshrew your eyes ,
They have o’erlooked me and divided me .
One half of me is yours , the other half yours —
Mine own , I would say — but if mine , then yours ,
And so all yours . O , these naughty times
Puts bars between the owners and their rights !
And so though yours , not yours . Prove it so ,
Let Fortune go to hell for it , not I .
I speak too long , but ’tis to peize the time ,
To eche it , and to draw it out in length ,
To stay you from election .

The Merchant of Venice


Away , then . I am locked in one of them .
If you do love me , you will find me out . —
Nerissa and the rest , stand all aloof .
Let music sound while he doth make his choice .
Then if he lose he makes a swanlike end ,
Fading in music . That the comparison
May stand more proper , my eye shall be the stream
And wat’ry deathbed for him . He may win ,
And what is music then ? Then music is
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
To a new-crownèd monarch . Such it is
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom’s ear
And summon him to marriage . Now he goes ,
With no less presence but with much more love
Than young Alcides when he did redeem
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
To the sea-monster . I stand for sacrifice ;
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives ,
With blearèd visages , come forth to view
The issue of th’ exploit . Go , Hercules !
Live thou , I live . With much much more dismay
I view the fight than thou that mak’st the fray .

The Merchant of Venice


So may the outward shows be least themselves ;
The world is still deceived with ornament .
In law , what plea so tainted and corrupt
But , being seasoned with a gracious voice ,
Obscures the show of evil ? In religion ,
What damnèd error but some sober brow
Will bless it and approve it with a text ,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ?
There is no vice so simple but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts .
How many cowards whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand , wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars ,
Who inward searched have livers white as milk ,
And these assume but valor’s excrement
To render them redoubted . Look on beauty ,
And you shall see ’tis purchased by the weight ,
Which therein works a miracle in nature ,
Making them lightest that wear most of it .
So are those crispèd snaky golden locks ,
Which maketh such wanton gambols with the wind
Upon supposèd fairness , often known
To be the dowry of a second head ,
The skull that bred them in the sepulcher .
Thus ornament is but the guilèd shore
To a most dangerous sea , the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word ,
The seeming truth which cunning times put on
To entrap the wisest . Therefore , then , thou gaudy
gold ,
Hard food for Midas , I will none of thee .
Nor none of thee , thou pale and common drudge
’Tween man and man . But thou , thou meager lead ,
Which rather threaten’st than dost promise aught ,
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence ,
And here choose I . Joy be the consequence !

The Merchant of Venice

What find I here ?
Fair Portia’s counterfeit ! What demigod
Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ?
Or whether , riding on the balls of mine ,
Seem they in motion ? Here are severed lips
Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends . Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider , and hath woven
A golden mesh t’ entrap the hearts of men
Faster than gnats in cobwebs . But her eyes !
How could he see to do them ? Having made one ,
Methinks it should have power to steal both his
And leave itself unfurnished . Yet look how far
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it , so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance . Here’s the scroll ,
The continent and summary of my fortune .

You that choose not by the view
Chance as fair and choose as true .
Since this fortune falls to you ,
Be content and seek no new .
If you be well pleased with this
And hold your fortune for your bliss ,
Turn you where your lady is ,
And claim her with a loving kiss .
A gentle scroll ! Fair lady , by your leave ,
I come by note to give and to receive .
Like one of two contending in a prize
That thinks he hath done well in people’s eyes ,
Hearing applause and universal shout ,
Giddy in spirit , still gazing in a doubt
Whether those peals of praise be his or no ,
So , thrice-fair lady , stand I even so ,
As doubtful whether what I see be true ,
Until confirmed , signed , ratified by you .

The Merchant of Venice


Madam , you have bereft me of all words .
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins ,
And there is such confusion in my powers
As after some oration fairly spoke
By a belovèd prince there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleasèd multitude ,
Where every something being blent together
Turns to a wild of nothing , save of joy
Expressed and not expressed . But when this ring
Parts from this finger , then parts life from hence .
O , then be bold to say Bassanio’s dead !

The Merchant of Venice


I thank your Lordship , you have got me one .
My eyes , my lord , can look as swift as yours :
You saw the mistress , I beheld the maid .
You loved , I loved ; for intermission
No more pertains to me , my lord , than you .
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there ,
And so did mine , too , as the matter falls .
For wooing here until I sweat again ,
And swearing till my very roof was dry
With oaths of love , at last ( if promise last )
I got a promise of this fair one here
To have her love , provided that your fortune
Achieved her mistress .

The Merchant of Venice

O sweet Portia ,
Here are a few of the unpleasant’st words
That ever blotted paper . Gentle lady ,
When I did first impart my love to you ,
I freely told you all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins : I was a gentleman .
And then I told you true ; and yet , dear lady ,
Rating myself at nothing , you shall see
How much I was a braggart . When I told you
My state was nothing , I should then have told you
That I was worse than nothing ; for indeed
I have engaged myself to a dear friend ,
Engaged my friend to his mere enemy
To feed my means . Here is a letter , lady ,
The paper as the body of my friend ,
And every word in it a gaping wound
Issuing life blood . — But is it true , Salerio ?
Hath all his ventures failed ? What , not one hit ?
From Tripolis , from Mexico and England ,
From Lisbon , Barbary , and India ,
And not one vessel ’scape the dreadful touch
Of merchant-marring rocks ?

The Merchant of Venice


Jailer , look to him . Tell not me of mercy .
This is the fool that lent out money gratis .
Jailer , look to him .

The Merchant of Venice


The Duke cannot deny the course of law ,
For the commodity that strangers have
With us in Venice , if it be denied ,
Will much impeach the justice of the state ,
Since that the trade and profit of the city
Consisteth of all nations . Therefore go .
These griefs and losses have so bated me
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
Tomorrow to my bloody creditor . —
Well , jailer , on . — Pray God Bassanio come
To see me pay his debt , and then I care not .

The Merchant of Venice


I thank you for your wish , and am well pleased
To wish it back on you . Fare you well , Jessica .

Now , Balthazar ,
As I have ever found thee honest true ,
So let me find thee still : take this same letter ,
And use thou all th’ endeavor of a man
In speed to Padua . See thou render this
Into my cousin’s hands , Doctor Bellario .

And look what notes and garments he doth give
thee ,
Bring them , I pray thee , with imagined speed
Unto the traject , to the common ferry
Which trades to Venice . Waste no time in words ,
But get thee gone . I shall be there before thee .

The Merchant of Venice

Yes , truly , for look you , the sins of the father
are to be laid upon the children . Therefore I
promise you I fear you . I was always plain with you ,
and so now I speak my agitation of the matter .
Therefore be o’ good cheer , for truly I think you
are damned . There is but one hope in it that can do
you any good , and that is but a kind of bastard hope
neither .

The Merchant of Venice


Make room , and let him stand before our face . —
Shylock , the world thinks , and I think so too ,
That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice
To the last hour of act , and then , ’tis thought ,
Thou ’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty ;
And where thou now exacts the penalty ,
Which is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh ,
Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture ,
But , touched with humane gentleness and love ,
Forgive a moi’ty of the principal ,
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses
That have of late so huddled on his back ,
Enow to press a royal merchant down
And pluck commiseration of his state
From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint ,
From stubborn Turks , and Tartars never trained
To offices of tender courtesy .
We all expect a gentle answer , Jew .

The Merchant of Venice


I pray you , think you question with the Jew .
You may as well go stand upon the beach
And bid the main flood bate his usual height ;
You may as well use question with the wolf
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ;
You may as well forbid the mountain pines
To wag their high tops and to make no noise
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven ;
You may as well do anything most hard
As seek to soften that than which what’s harder ? —
His Jewish heart . Therefore I do beseech you
Make no more offers , use no farther means ,
But with all brief and plain conveniency
Let me have judgment and the Jew his will .

The Merchant of Venice


Good cheer , Antonio ! What , man , courage yet !
The Jew shall have my flesh , blood , bones , and all
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood !

The Merchant of Venice


O , be thou damned , inexecrable dog ,
And for thy life let justice be accused ;
Thou almost mak’st me waver in my faith ,
To hold opinion with Pythagoras
That souls of animals infuse themselves
Into the trunks of men . Thy currish spirit
Governed a wolf who , hanged for human slaughter ,
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet ,
And whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam ,
Infused itself in thee , for thy desires
Are wolfish , bloody , starved , and ravenous .

The Merchant of Venice


I pray you let me look upon the bond .

The Merchant of Venice


’Tis very true . O wise and upright judge ,
How much more elder art thou than thy looks !

The Merchant of Venice


Tarry a little . There is something else .
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood .
The words expressly are a pound of flesh .
Take then thy bond , take thou thy pound of flesh ,
But in the cutting it , if thou dost shed
One drop of Christian blood , thy lands and goods
Are by the laws of Venice confiscate
Unto the state of Venice .

The Merchant of Venice


Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh .
Shed thou no blood , nor cut thou less nor more
But just a pound of flesh . If thou tak’st more
Or less than a just pound , be it but so much
As makes it light or heavy in the substance
Or the division of the twentieth part
Of one poor scruple — nay , if the scale do turn
But in the estimation of a hair ,
Thou diest , and all thy goods are confiscate .

The Merchant of Venice


Let’s in , and there expect their coming .
And yet no matter ; why should we go in ? —
My friend Stephano , signify , I pray you ,
Within the house , your mistress is at hand ,
And bring your music forth into the air .

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank .
Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears ; soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony .
Sit , Jessica . Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold .
There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st
But in his motion like an angel sings ,
Still choiring to the young-eyed cherubins .
Such harmony is in immortal souls ,
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in , we cannot hear it .



Come , ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn .
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear ,
And draw her home with music .

The Merchant of Venice


The reason is , your spirits are attentive .
For do but note a wild and wanton herd
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts ,
Fetching mad bounds , bellowing and neighing loud ,
Which is the hot condition of their blood ,
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound ,
Or any air of music touch their ears ,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand ,
Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze
By the sweet power of music . Therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees , stones , and
floods ,
Since naught so stockish , hard , and full of rage ,
But music for the time doth change his nature .
The man that hath no music in himself ,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds ,
Is fit for treasons , stratagems , and spoils ;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night ,
And his affections dark as Erebus .
Let no such man be trusted . Mark the music .

The Merchant of Venice


This night methinks is but the daylight sick ;
It looks a little paler . ’Tis a day
Such as the day is when the sun is hid .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

It is not meet the Council hear a riot . There
is no fear of Got in a riot . The Council , look you ,
shall desire to hear the fear of Got , and not to hear
a riot . Take your visaments in that .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

I love the sport well , but I shall as soon quarrel
at it as any man in England . You are afraid if
you see the bear loose , are you not ?

The Merry Wives of Windsor

That’s meat and drink to me , now . I have
seen Sackerson loose twenty times , and have taken
him by the chain . But , I warrant you , the women
have so cried and shrieked at it that it passed . But
women , indeed , cannot abide ’em ; they are very ill-favored
rough things .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

I am glad he is so
quiet . If he had been throughly moved , you should
have heard him so loud and so melancholy . But
notwithstanding , man , I’ll do you your master
what good I can . And the very yea and the no is ,
the French doctor , my master — I may call him my
master , look you , for I keep his house , and I wash ,
wring , brew , bake , scour , dress meat and drink ,
make the beds , and do all myself —

The Merry Wives of Windsor

And , trust me , I was coming to you .
You look very ill .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Why , look where he comes , and my
good man too . He’s as far from jealousy as I am
from giving him cause , and that , I hope , is an
unmeasurable distance .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Have with you . — You’ll come to dinner ,
George ? Look who
comes yonder .


She shall be our messenger to this paltry knight .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Ay , marry , does he . If he should intend this voyage
toward my wife , I would turn her loose to him ;
and what he gets more of her than sharp words , let
it lie on my head .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Look where my ranting Host of the Garter
comes . There is either liquor in his pate or money
in his purse when he looks so merrily . — How now ,
mine Host ?

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Though Page be a secure fool and stands so
firmly on his wife’s frailty , yet I cannot put off my
opinion so easily . She was in his company at Page’s
house , and what they made there I know not . Well ,
I will look further into ’t , and I have a disguise to
sound Falstaff . If I find her honest , I lose not my
labor . If she be otherwise , ’tis labor well bestowed .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Not a penny . I have been content , sir , you
should lay my countenance to pawn . I have grated
upon my good friends for three reprieves for you
and your coach-fellow Nym , or else you had
looked through the grate like a gemini of baboons .
I am damned in hell for swearing to gentlemen my
friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows .
And when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her
fan , I took ’t upon mine honor thou hadst it not .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Reason , you rogue , reason . Think’st thou I’ll
endanger my soul gratis ? At a word , hang no more
about me . I am no gibbet for you . Go — a short
knife and a throng — to your manor of Pickt-hatch ,
go . You’ll not bear a letter for me , you rogue ? You
stand upon your honor ? Why , thou unconfinable
baseness , it is as much as I can do to keep the
terms of my honor precise . Ay , ay , I myself sometimes ,
leaving the fear of God on the left hand
and hiding mine honor in my necessity , am fain to
shuffle , to hedge , and to lurch ; and yet you , rogue ,
will ensconce your rags , your cat-a-mountain
looks , your red-lattice phrases , and your bold beating
oaths under the shelter of your honor ! You will
not do it ? You ?

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Nay , but do so then , and , look you ,
he may come and go between you both . And in any
case have a nayword , that you may know one another’s
mind , and the boy never need to understand
anything ; for ’tis not good that children
should know any wickedness . Old folks , you know ,
have discretion , as they say , and know the world .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Sayst thou so , old Jack ? Go thy ways . I’ll
make more of thy old body than I have done . Will
they yet look after thee ? Wilt thou , after the expense
of so much money , be now a gainer ? Good
body , I thank thee . Let them say ’tis grossly done ;
so it be fairly done , no matter .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

O , understand my drift . She dwells
so securely on the excellency of her honor that the
folly of my soul dares not present itself ; she is too
bright to be looked against . Now , could I come to
her with any detection in my hand , my desires had
instance and argument to commend themselves . I
could drive her then from the ward of her purity ,
her reputation , her marriage vow , and a thousand
other her defenses , which now are too too strongly
embattled against me . What say you to ’t , Sir
John ?

The Merry Wives of Windsor

By gar , me do look he shall clapper-de-claw
me , for , by gar , me vill have it .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

I pray you now , good Master Slender’s servingman
and friend Simple by your name , which
way have you looked for Master Caius , that calls
himself doctor of physic ?

The Merry Wives of Windsor

I most fehemently desire you , you will also
look that way .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

As I am a Christians soul , now look you , this
is the place appointed . I’ll be judgment by mine
Host of the Garter .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Mistress Ford , Mistress Ford ! Here’s Mistress
Page at the door , sweating and blowing and looking
wildly , and would needs speak with you
presently .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

For shame ! Never stand you had
rather and you had rather . Your husband’s here
at hand . Bethink you of some conveyance . In the
house you cannot hide him . O , how have you deceived
me ! Look , here is a basket . If he be of any
reasonable stature , he may creep in here ; and
throw foul linen upon him , as if it were going to
bucking . Or — it is whiting time — send him by your
two men to Datchet Mead .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

What , John ! Robert ! John !



Go , take up these clothes here quickly . Where’s the
cowlstaff ? Look how you drumble ! Carry them to
the laundress in Datchet Mead . Quickly ! Come .

The Merry Wives of Windsor


I come to him . This is my father’s choice .
O , what a world of vile ill-favored faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year !

The Merry Wives of Windsor

This is my doing now . Nay , said I ,
will you cast away your child on a fool and a
physician ? Look on Master Fenton . This is my
doing .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast in ’t .

Have I lived to be carried in a basket like a barrow
of butcher’s offal , and to be thrown in the Thames ?
Well , if I be served such another trick , I’ll have my
brains ta’en out and buttered , and give them to a
dog for a New Year’s gift . ’Sblood , the rogues
slighted me into the river with as little remorse as
they would have drowned a blind bitch’s puppies ,
fifteen i’ th’ litter ! And you may know by my size
that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking ; if the bottom
were as deep as hell , I should down . I had
been drowned , but that the shore was shelvy and
shallow — a death that I abhor , for the water swells
a man , and what a thing should I have been when
I had been swelled ! By the Lord , I should have
been a mountain of mummy .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

I’ll be with her by and by . I’ll but bring
my young man here to school .



Look where his master comes . ’Tis a playing day , I
see . — How now , Sir Hugh , no school today ?

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Go , go , sweet Sir John . Mistress Page
and I will look some linen for your head .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Why , this passes , Master Ford ! You are not to go
loose any longer ; you must be pinioned .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

’Tis one of the best discretions of a ’oman as
ever I did look upon .

The Merry Wives of Windsor


There is an old tale goes that Herne the Hunter ,
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest ,
Doth all the wintertime , at still midnight ,
Walk round about an oak , with great ragged horns ,
And there he blasts the tree , and takes the cattle ,
And makes milch-kine yield blood , and shakes a
chain
In a most hideous and dreadful manner .
You have heard of such a spirit , and well you know
The superstitious idle-headed eld
Received and did deliver to our age
This tale of Herne the Hunter for a truth .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

Have a care of your entertainments . There is
a friend of mine come to town tells me there is
three cozen-Germans that has cozened all the
hosts of Readings , of Maidenhead , of Colnbrook ,
of horses and money . I tell you for good will , look
you . You are wise , and full of gibes and vlouting-stocks ,
and ’tis not convenient you should be cozened .
Fare you well .

The Merry Wives of Windsor


From time to time I have acquainted you
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ,
Who mutually hath answered my affection ,
So far forth as herself might be her chooser ,
Even to my wish . I have a letter from her
Of such contents as you will wonder at ,
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter
That neither singly can be manifested
Without the show of both . Fat Falstaff
Hath a great scene ; the image of the jest
I’ll show you here at large . Hark , good mine Host :
Tonight at Herne’s oak , just ’twixt twelve and one ,
Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen —
The purpose why is here — in which disguise ,
While other jests are something rank on foot ,
Her father hath commanded her to slip
Away with Slender , and with him at Eton
Immediately to marry . She hath consented . Now , sir ,
Her mother , ever strong against that match
And firm for Doctor Caius , hath appointed
That he shall likewise shuffle her away ,
While other sports are tasking of their minds ,
And at the dean’ry , where a priest attends ,
Straight marry her . To this her mother’s plot
She , seemingly obedient , likewise hath
Made promise to the doctor . Now , thus it rests :
Her father means she shall be all in white ,
And in that habit , when Slender sees his time
To take her by the hand and bid her go ,
She shall go with him . Her mother hath intended
The better to denote her to the doctor —
For they must all be masked and vizarded —
That quaint in green she shall be loose enrobed ,
With ribbons pendent flaring ’bout her head ;
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe ,
To pinch her by the hand , and on that token
The maid hath given consent to go with him .

The Merry Wives of Windsor

The Windsor bell hath struck twelve . The
minute draws on . Now , the hot-blooded gods assist
me ! Remember , Jove , thou wast a bull for thy
Europa ; love set on thy horns . O powerful love ,
that in some respects makes a beast a man , in
some other a man a beast ! You were also , Jupiter ,
a swan for the love of Leda . O omnipotent love ,
how near the god drew to the complexion of a
goose ! A fault done first in the form of a beast ; O
Jove , a beastly fault ! And then another fault in the
semblance of a fowl ; think on ’t , Jove , a foul fault .
When gods have hot backs , what shall poor men
do ? For me , I am here a Windsor stag , and the fattest ,
I think , i’ th’ forest . Send me a cool rut-time ,
Jove , or who can blame me to piss my tallow ?



Who comes here ? My doe ?

The Merry Wives of Windsor

About , about !
Search Windsor Castle , elves , within and out .
Strew good luck , aufs , on every sacred room ,
That it may stand till the perpetual doom
In state as wholesome as in state ’tis fit ,
Worthy the owner , and the owner it .
The several chairs of order look you scour
With juice of balm and every precious flower .
Each fair installment , coat , and sev’ral crest
With loyal blazon evermore be blest !
And nightly , meadow fairies , look you sing ,
Like to the Garter’s compass , in a ring .
Th’ expressure that it bears , green let it be ,
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ;
And Honi soit qui mal y pense write
In em’rald tufts , flowers purple , blue , and white ,
Like sapphire , pearl , and rich embroidery ,
Buckled below fair knighthood’s bending knee .
Fairies use flowers for their charactery .
Away , disperse ! But till ’tis one o’clock ,
Our dance of custom round about the oak
Of Herne the Hunter let us not forget .

The Merry Wives of Windsor


Vile worm , thou wast o’erlooked even in thy birth .

The Merry Wives of Windsor


Fie on sinful fantasy !
Fie on lust and luxury !
Lust is but a bloody fire
Kindled with unchaste desire ,
Fed in heart whose flames aspire
As thoughts do blow them higher and higher .
Pinch him , fairies , mutually ;
Pinch him for his villainy .
Pinch him and burn him and turn him about ,
Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out .

The Taming of the Shrew

You’re a baggage ! The Slys are no rogues . Look
in the chronicles . We came in with Richard Conqueror .
Therefore , paucas pallabris , let the world
slide . Sessa !

The Taming of the Shrew


Thou art a fool . If Echo were as fleet ,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such .
But sup them well , and look unto them all .
Tomorrow I intend to hunt again .

The Taming of the Shrew

I am Christophero Sly ! Call not me Honor nor
Lordship . I ne’er drank sack in my life . An if you
give me any conserves , give me conserves of beef .
Ne’er ask me what raiment I’ll wear , for I have no
more doublets than backs , no more stockings than
legs , nor no more shoes than feet , nay sometime
more feet than shoes , or such shoes as my toes look
through the over-leather .

The Taming of the Shrew


Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house ,
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy .
O noble lord , bethink thee of thy birth ,
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment ,
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams .
Look how thy servants do attend on thee ,
Each in his office ready at thy beck .
Wilt thou have music ? Hark , Apollo plays ,
And twenty cagèd nightingales do sing .
Or wilt thou sleep ? We’ll have thee to a couch
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimmed up for Semiramis .
Say thou wilt walk , we will bestrew the ground .
Or wilt thou ride ? Thy horses shall be trapped ,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl .
Dost thou love hawking ? Thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark . Or wilt thou hunt ?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth .

The Taming of the Shrew


Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood ,
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds ,
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep ,
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn .

The Taming of the Shrew


And till the tears that she hath shed for thee
Like envious floods o’errun her lovely face ,
She was the fairest creature in the world —
And yet she is inferior to none .

The Taming of the Shrew

Ay , it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long ; but
I would be loath to fall into my dreams again . I will
therefore tarry in despite of the flesh and the
blood .

The Taming of the Shrew


Your Honor’s players , hearing your amendment ,
Are come to play a pleasant comedy ,
For so your doctors hold it very meet ,
Seeing too much sadness hath congealed your
blood ,
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy .
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment ,
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life .

The Taming of the Shrew


Gramercies , Tranio , well dost thou advise .
If , Biondello , thou wert come ashore ,
We could at once put us in readiness
And take a lodging fit to entertain
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget .



But stay awhile ! What company is this ?

The Taming of the Shrew


Sister , content you in my discontent . —
Sir , to your pleasure humbly I subscribe .
My books and instruments shall be my company ,
On them to look and practice by myself .

The Taming of the Shrew


O Tranio , till I found it to be true ,
I never thought it possible or likely .
But see , while idly I stood looking on ,
I found the effect of love-in-idleness ,
And now in plainness do confess to thee
That art to me as secret and as dear
As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was :
Tranio , I burn , I pine ! I perish , Tranio ,
If I achieve not this young modest girl .
Counsel me , Tranio , for I know thou canst .
Assist me , Tranio , for I know thou wilt .

The Taming of the Shrew


Master , you looked so longly on the maid ,
Perhaps you marked not what’s the pith of all .

The Taming of the Shrew

Nay , ’tis no matter , sir , what he ’leges in
Latin . If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave
his service — look you , sir : he bid me knock him
and rap him soundly , sir . Well , was it fit for a
servant to use his master so , being perhaps , for
aught I see , two-and-thirty , a pip out ?
Whom , would to God , I had well knocked at first ,
Then had not Grumio come by the worst .

The Taming of the Shrew

Nay , look you , sir , he tells you
flatly what his mind is . Why , give him gold enough
and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby , or an
old trot with ne’er a tooth in her head , though she
have as many diseases as two-and-fifty horses . Why ,
nothing comes amiss , so money comes withal .

The Taming of the Shrew

Here’s no knavery ! See , to beguile the old
folks , how the young folks lay their heads together !



Master , master , look about you . Who goes there , ha ?

The Taming of the Shrew


How now , my friend , why dost thou look so pale ?

The Taming of the Shrew


For fear , I promise you , if I look pale .

The Taming of the Shrew


Why , no , for she hath broke the lute to me .
I did but tell her she mistook her frets ,
And bowed her hand to teach her fingering ,
When , with a most impatient devilish spirit ,
Frets call you these ? quoth she . I’ll fume with
them !
And with that word she struck me on the head ,
And through the instrument my pate made way ,
And there I stood amazèd for a while ,
As on a pillory , looking through the lute ,
While she did call me rascal fiddler ,
And twangling Jack , with twenty such vile terms ,
As had she studied to misuse me so .

The Taming of the Shrew


I pray you do . I’ll attend her here —

And woo her with some spirit when she comes !
Say that she rail , why then I’ll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale .
Say that she frown , I’ll say she looks as clear
As morning roses newly washed with dew .
Say she be mute and will not speak a word ,
Then I’ll commend her volubility
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence .
If she do bid me pack , I’ll give her thanks
As though she bid me stay by her a week .
If she deny to wed , I’ll crave the day
When I shall ask the banns , and when be marrièd .
But here she comes — and now , Petruchio , speak .



Good morrow , Kate , for that’s your name , I hear .

The Taming of the Shrew


Nay , come , Kate , come . You must not look so sour .

The Taming of the Shrew


Why , here’s no crab , and therefore look not sour .

The Taming of the Shrew


No , not a whit . I find you passing gentle .
’Twas told me you were rough , and coy , and sullen ,
And now I find report a very liar .
For thou art pleasant , gamesome , passing
courteous ,
But slow in speech , yet sweet as springtime flowers .
Thou canst not frown , thou canst not look askance ,
Nor bite the lip as angry wenches will ,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk .
But thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers ,
With gentle conference , soft , and affable .
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp ?
O sland’rous world ! Kate like the hazel twig
Is straight , and slender , and as brown in hue
As hazelnuts hazel nuts , and sweeter than the kernels .
O , let me see thee walk ! Thou dost not halt .

The Taming of the Shrew


No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch .
But now , Baptista , to your younger daughter .
Now is the day we long have lookèd for .
I am your neighbor and was suitor first .

The Taming of the Shrew

Hic ibat , as I told you before , Simois , I am
Lucentio , hic est , son unto Vincentio of Pisa ,
Sigeia tellus , disguised thus to get your love , Hic
steterat , and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing ,
Priami , is my man Tranio , regia , bearing my port ,
celsa senis , that we might beguile the old pantaloon .

The Taming of the Shrew


But I have cause to pry into this pedant .
Methinks he looks as though he were in love .
Yet if thy thoughts , Bianca , be so humble
To cast thy wand’ring eyes on every stale ,
Seize thee that list ! If once I find thee ranging ,
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing .

The Taming of the Shrew


That by degrees we mean to look into ,
And watch our vantage in this business .
We’ll overreach the graybeard , Gremio ,
The narrow prying father , Minola ,
The quaint musician , amorous Litio ,
All for my master’s sake , Lucentio .

The Taming of the Shrew


They shall go forward , Kate , at thy command . —
Obey the bride , you that attend on her .
Go to the feast , revel and domineer ,
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead ,
Be mad and merry , or go hang yourselves .
But for my bonny Kate , she must with me .
Nay , look not big , nor stamp , nor stare , nor fret ;
I will be master of what is mine own .
She is my goods , my chattels ; she is my house ,
My household stuff , my field , my barn ,
My horse , my ox , my ass , my anything .
And here she stands , touch her whoever dare .
I’ll bring mine action on the proudest he
That stops my way in Padua . — Grumio ,
Draw forth thy weapon . We are beset with thieves .
Rescue thy mistress if thou be a man ! —
Fear not , sweet wench , they shall not touch thee ,
Kate .
I’ll buckler thee against a million .

The Taming of the Shrew

In her chamber ,
Making a sermon of continency to her ,
And rails and swears and rates , that she ( poor soul )
Knows not which way to stand , to look , to speak ,
And sits as one new-risen from a dream .
Away , away , for he is coming hither !

The Taming of the Shrew


Thus have I politicly begun my reign ,
And ’tis my hope to end successfully .
My falcon now is sharp and passing empty ,
And , till she stoop , she must not be full-gorged ,
For then she never looks upon her lure .
Another way I have to man my haggard ,
To make her come and know her keeper’s call .
That is , to watch her , as we watch these kites
That bate and beat and will not be obedient .
She ate no meat today , nor none shall eat .
Last night she slept not , nor tonight she shall not .
As with the meat , some undeservèd undeserved fault
I’ll find about the making of the bed ,
And here I’ll fling the pillow , there the bolster ,
This way the coverlet , another way the sheets .
Ay , and amid this hurly I intend
That all is done in reverend care of her .
And , in conclusion , she shall watch all night ,
And , if she chance to nod , I’ll rail and brawl ,
And with the clamor keep her still awake .
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness .
And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humor .
He that knows better how to tame a shrew ,
Now let him speak ; ’tis charity to shew .

The Taming of the Shrew


Would all the world but he had quite forsworn !
For me , that I may surely keep mine oath ,
I will be married to a wealthy widow
Ere three days pass , which hath as long loved me
As I have loved this proud disdainful haggard .
And so farewell , Signior Lucentio .
Kindness in women , not their beauteous looks ,
Shall win my love , and so I take my leave ,
In resolution as I swore before .

The Taming of the Shrew


To save your life in this extremity ,
This favor will I do you for his sake
( And think it not the worst of all your fortunes
That you are like to Sir Vincentio ) :
His name and credit shall you undertake ,
And in my house you shall be friendly lodged .
Look that you take upon you as you should .
You understand me , sir . So shall you stay
Till you have done your business in the city .
If this be court’sy , sir , accept of it .

The Taming of the Shrew


Then go with me , to make the matter good .
This , by the way , I let you understand :
My father is here looked for every day
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage
’Twixt me and one Baptista’s daughter here .
In all these circumstances I’ll instruct you .
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you .

The Taming of the Shrew


Pluck up thy spirits . Look cheerfully upon me .
Here , love , thou seest how diligent I am ,
To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee .
I am sure , sweet Kate , this kindness merits thanks .
What , not a word ? Nay then , thou lov’st it not ,
And all my pains is sorted to no proof .
Here , take away this dish .

The Taming of the Shrew

Imprimis , a loose-bodied gown —

The Taming of the Shrew

Master , if ever I said loose-bodied gown ,
sew me in the skirts of it and beat me to death with
a bottom of brown thread . I said a gown .

The Taming of the Shrew


It shall be seven ere I go to horse .
Look what I speak , or do , or think to do ,
You are still crossing it . — Sirs , let ’t alone .
I will not go today , and , ere I do ,
It shall be what o’clock I say it is .

The Taming of the Shrew


I told him that your father was at Venice ,
And that you looked for him this day in Padua .

The Taming of the Shrew

I cannot tell , except they are busied
about a counterfeit assurance . Take you assurance
of her cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum . To th’
church take the priest , clerk , and some sufficient
honest witnesses .
If this be not that you look for , I have no more to
say ,
But bid Bianca farewell forever and a day .

The Taming of the Shrew


Pardon , old father , my mistaking eyes
That have been so bedazzled with the sun
That everything I look on seemeth green .
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father .
Pardon , I pray thee , for my mad mistaking .

The Taming of the Shrew

Thou liest . His father is
come from Padua and here looking out at the
window .

The Taming of the Shrew

What , my old worshipful old master ? Yes ,
marry , sir . See where he looks out of the window .

The Taming of the Shrew

Look not pale , Bianca . Thy father will not
frown .

The Taming of the Shrew


Fie , fie ! Unknit that threat’ning unkind brow ,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
To wound thy lord , thy king , thy governor .
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads ,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds ,
And in no sense is meet or amiable .
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled ,
Muddy , ill-seeming , thick , bereft of beauty ,
And while it is so , none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it .
Thy husband is thy lord , thy life , thy keeper ,
Thy head , thy sovereign , one that cares for thee ,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labor both by sea and land ,
To watch the night in storms , the day in cold ,
Whilst thou liest warm at home , secure and safe ,
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love , fair looks , and true obedience —
Too little payment for so great a debt .
Such duty as the subject owes the prince ,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband ;
And when she is froward , peevish , sullen , sour ,
And not obedient to his honest will ,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord ?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace ,
Or seek for rule , supremacy , and sway
When they are bound to serve , love , and obey .
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth ,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts ?
Come , come , you froward and unable worms !
My mind hath been as big as one of yours ,
My heart as great , my reason haply more ,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown ;
But now I see our lances are but straws ,
Our strength as weak , our weakness past compare ,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are .
Then vail your stomachs , for it is no boot ,
And place your hands below your husband’s foot ;
In token of which duty , if he please ,
My hand is ready , may it do him ease .

The Tempest

Well demanded , wench .
My tale provokes that question . Dear , they durst not ,
So dear the love my people bore me , nor set
A mark so bloody on the business , but
With colors fairer painted their foul ends .
In few , they hurried us aboard a bark ,
Bore us some leagues to sea , where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a butt , not rigged ,
Nor tackle , sail , nor mast ; the very rats
Instinctively have quit it . There they hoist us
To cry to th’ sea that roared to us , to sigh
To th’ winds , whose pity , sighing back again ,
Did us but loving wrong .

The Tempest

’Tis a villain , sir ,
I do not love to look on .

The Tempest

What is ’t ? A spirit ?
Lord , how it looks about ! Believe me , sir ,
It carries a brave form . But ’tis a spirit .

The Tempest

Look , he’s winding up the watch of his wit .
By and by it will strike .

The Tempest

How lush and lusty the grass looks ! How
green !

The Tempest

True ,
And look how well my garments sit upon me ,
Much feater than before . My brother’s servants
Were then my fellows ; now they are my men .

The Tempest


Why , how now , ho ! Awake ? Why are you drawn ?
Wherefore this ghastly looking ?

The Tempest

Here’s neither bush nor shrub to bear off
any weather at all . And another storm brewing ; I
hear it sing i’ th’ wind . Yond same black cloud , yond
huge one , looks like a foul bombard that would shed
his liquor . If it should thunder as it did before , I
know not where to hide my head . Yond same cloud
cannot choose but fall by pailfuls .
What have we here , a man or a fish ? Dead or
alive ? A fish , he smells like a fish — a very ancient
and fishlike smell , a kind of not-of-the-newest poor-John .
A strange fish . Were I in England now , as once
I was , and had but this fish painted , not a holiday
fool there but would give a piece of silver . There
would this monster make a man . Any strange beast
there makes a man . When they will not give a doit to
relieve a lame beggar , they will lay out ten to see a
dead Indian . Legged like a man , and his fins like
arms ! Warm , o’ my troth ! I do now let loose my
opinion , hold it no longer : this is no fish , but an
islander that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt .
Alas , the storm is come again . My best
way is to creep under his gaberdine . There is no
other shelter hereabout . Misery acquaints a man
with strange bedfellows . I will here shroud till the
dregs of the storm be past .

The Tempest

You look wearily .

The Tempest


Look thou be true ; do not give dalliance
Too much the rein . The strongest oaths are straw
To th’ fire i’ th’ blood . Be more abstemious ,
Or else goodnight your vow .

The Tempest


You nymphs , called naiads of the windring brooks ,
With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks ,
Leave your crisp channels and on this green land
Answer your summons , Juno does command .
Come , temperate nymphs , and help to celebrate
A contract of true love . Be not too late .



You sunburned sicklemen , of August weary ,
Come hither from the furrow and be merry .
Make holiday : your rye-straw hats put on ,
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
In country footing .

The Tempest


You do look , my son , in a moved sort ,
As if you were dismayed . Be cheerful , sir .
Our revels now are ended . These our actors ,
As I foretold you , were all spirits and
Are melted into air , into thin air ;
And like the baseless fabric of this vision ,
The cloud-capped towers , the gorgeous palaces ,
The solemn temples , the great globe itself ,
Yea , all which it inherit , shall dissolve ,
And , like this insubstantial pageant faded ,
Leave not a rack behind . We are such stuff
As dreams are made on , and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep . Sir , I am vexed .
Bear with my weakness . My old brain is troubled .
Be not disturbed with my infirmity .
If you be pleased , retire into my cell
And there repose . A turn or two I’ll walk
To still my beating mind .

The Tempest

So is mine . — Do you hear , monster . If I
should take a displeasure against you , look you —

The Tempest

Give me thy hand . I do begin to have bloody
thoughts .

The Tempest

O King Stephano , O
peer , O worthy Stephano , look what a wardrobe
here is for thee !

The Tempest


You elves of hills , brooks , standing lakes , and groves ,
And you that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune , and do fly him
When he comes back ; you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make ,
Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrumps , that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid ,
Weak masters though you be , I have bedimmed
The noontide sun , called forth the mutinous winds ,
And ’twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war ; to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire , and rifted Jove’s stout oak
With his own bolt ; the strong-based promontory
Have I made shake , and by the spurs plucked up
The pine and cedar ; graves at my command
Have waked their sleepers , oped , and let ’em forth
By my so potent art . But this rough magic
I here abjure , and when I have required
Some heavenly music , which even now I do ,

To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for , I’ll break my staff ,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth ,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I’ll drown my book .



A solemn air , and the best comforter
To an unsettled fancy , cure thy brains ,
Now useless , boiled within thy skull . There stand ,
For you are spell-stopped . —
Holy Gonzalo , honorable man ,
Mine eyes , e’en sociable to the show of thine ,
Fall fellowly drops . — The charm dissolves apace ,
And as the morning steals upon the night ,
Melting the darkness , so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason . — O good Gonzalo ,
My true preserver and a loyal sir
To him thou follow’st , I will pay thy graces
Home , both in word and deed . — Most cruelly
Didst thou , Alonso , use me and my daughter .
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act . —
Thou art pinched for ’t now , Sebastian . — Flesh and
blood ,
You , brother mine , that entertained ambition ,
Expelled remorse and nature , whom , with Sebastian ,
Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong ,
Would here have killed your king , I do forgive thee ,
Unnatural though thou art . — Their understanding
Begins to swell , and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shore
That now lies foul and muddy . Not one of them
That yet looks on me , or would know me . — Ariel ,
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell .

I will discase me and myself present
As I was sometime Milan . — Quickly , spirit ,
Thou shalt ere long be free .

The Tempest

Whe’er thou be’st he or no ,
Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me
( As late I have been ) I not know . Thy pulse
Beats as of flesh and blood ; and since I saw thee ,
Th’ affliction of my mind amends , with which
I fear a madness held me . This must crave ,
An if this be at all , a most strange story .
Thy dukedom I resign , and do entreat
Thou pardon me my wrongs . But how should
Prospero
Be living and be here ?

The Tempest


In this last tempest . I perceive these lords
At this encounter do so much admire
That they devour their reason , and scarce think
Their eyes do offices of truth , their words
Are natural breath . — But howsoe’er you have
Been justled from your senses , know for certain
That I am Prospero and that very duke
Which was thrust forth of Milan , who most
strangely
Upon this shore , where you were wracked , was
landed
To be the lord on ’t . No more yet of this .
For ’tis a chronicle of day by day ,
Not a relation for a breakfast , nor
Befitting this first meeting . Welcome , sir .
This cell’s my court . Here have I few attendants ,
And subjects none abroad . Pray you , look in .
My dukedom since you have given me again ,
I will requite you with as good a thing ,
At least bring forth a wonder to content you
As much as me my dukedom .

The Tempest

I have inly wept
Or should have spoke ere this . Look down , you
gods ,
And on this couple drop a blessèd crown ,
For it is you that have chalked forth the way
Which brought us hither .

The Tempest

Be it so . Amen .



O , look , sir , look , sir , here is more of us .
I prophesied if a gallows were on land ,
This fellow could not drown . Now , blasphemy ,
That swear’st grace o’erboard , not an oath on
shore ?
Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the news ?

The Tempest


This is as strange a thing as e’er I looked on .

The Tempest


He is as disproportioned in his manners
As in his shape . Go , sirrah , to my cell .
Take with you your companions . As you look
To have my pardon , trim it handsomely .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


To be in love , where scorn is bought with groans ,
Coy looks with heart-sore sighs , one fading
moment’s mirth
With twenty watchful , weary , tedious nights ;
If haply won , perhaps a hapless gain ;
If lost , why then a grievous labor won ;
How ever , but a folly bought with wit ,
Or else a wit by folly vanquishèd .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Truly , sir , I think you’ll
hardly win her .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


And yet I would I had o’erlooked the letter .
It were a shame to call her back again
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her .
What fool is she that knows I am a maid
And would not force the letter to my view ,
Since maids in modesty say no to that
Which they would have the profferer construe ay !
Fie , fie , how wayward is this foolish love
That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse
And presently , all humbled , kiss the rod !
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence ,
When willingly I would have had her here !
How angerly I taught my brow to frown ,
When inward joy enforced my heart to smile !
My penance is to call Lucetta back
And ask remission for my folly past . —
What ho , Lucetta !

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


Nay , would I were so angered with the same !
O hateful hands , to tear such loving words !
Injurious wasps , to feed on such sweet honey
And kill the bees that yield it with your stings !
I’ll kiss each several paper for amends .

Look , here is writ kind Julia . Unkind Julia ,
As in revenge of thy ingratitude ,
I throw thy name against the bruising stones ,
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain .
And here is writ love-wounded Proteus .
Poor wounded name , my bosom as a bed
Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly healed ,
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss .
But twice or thrice was Proteus written down .
Be calm , good wind . Blow not a word away
Till I have found each letter in the letter
Except mine own name . That some whirlwind bear
Unto a ragged , fearful , hanging rock
And throw it thence into the raging sea .
Lo , here in one line is his name twice writ :
Poor forlorn Proteus , passionate Proteus ,
To the sweet Julia . That I’ll tear away —
And yet I will not , sith so prettily
He couples it to his complaining names .
Thus will I fold them one upon another .
Now kiss , embrace , contend , do what you will .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


Look what thou want’st shall be sent after thee .
No more of stay . Tomorrow thou must go . —
Come on , Pantino ; you shall be employed
To hasten on his expedition .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Marry , by these special marks : first , you have
learned , like Sir Proteus , to wreathe your arms like
a malcontent ; to relish a love song like a robin
redbreast ; to walk alone like one that had the
pestilence ; to sigh like a schoolboy that had lost his
ABC ; to weep like a young wench that had buried
her grandam ; to fast like one that takes diet ; to
watch like one that fears robbing ; to speak puling
like a beggar at Hallowmas . You were wont , when
you laughed , to crow like a cock ; when you walked ,
to walk like one of the lions . When you fasted , it was
presently after dinner ; when you looked sadly , it
was for want of money . And now you are metamorphosed
with a mistress , that when I look on you , I
can hardly think you my master .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Nay , ’twill be this hour ere I have done weeping .
All the kind of the Lances have this very fault . I have
received my proportion like the Prodigious Son and
am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial’s court . I
think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that
lives : my mother weeping , my father wailing , my
sister crying , our maid howling , our cat wringing
her hands , and all our house in a great perplexity ,
yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear . He
is a stone , a very pibble stone , and has no more pity
in him than a dog . A Jew would have wept to have
seen our parting . Why , my grandam , having no
eyes , look you , wept herself blind at my parting .
Nay , I’ll show you the manner of it . This shoe is my father . No , this left shoe is
my father ; no , no , this left shoe is my mother . Nay ,
that cannot be so neither . Yes , it is so , it is so ; it hath
the worser sole . This shoe with the hole in it is my
mother ; and this my father . A vengeance on ’t , there
’tis ! Now sir , this staff is my sister , for , look you , she
is as white as a lily and as small as a wand . This hat
is Nan , our maid . I am the dog . No , the dog is
himself , and I am the dog . O , the dog is me , and I
am myself . Ay , so , so . Now come I to my father :
Father , your blessing . Now should not the shoe
speak a word for weeping . Now should I kiss my
father . Well , he weeps on . Now
come I to my mother . O , that she could speak now
like a wold woman ! Well , I kiss her . Why , there ’tis ; here’s my mother’s
breath up and down . Now come I to my sister . Mark
the moan she makes ! Now the dog all this while
sheds not a tear nor speaks a word . But see how I
lay the dust with my tears .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Tut , man . I mean thou ’lt lose the flood and , in
losing the flood , lose thy voyage and , in losing thy
voyage , lose thy master and , in losing thy master ,
lose thy service and , in losing thy service — Why dost thou stop my
mouth ?

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

That hath more mind to feed on your blood
than live in your air .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Yourself , sweet lady , for you gave the fire .
Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your Ladyship’s
looks and spends what he borrows kindly in your
company .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


This is the gentleman I told your Ladyship
Had come along with me but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes locked in her crystal looks .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


Not so , sweet lady , but too mean a servant
To have a look of such a worthy mistress .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


I wait upon his pleasure . Come , Sir
Thurio ,
Go with me . — Once more , new servant , welcome .
I’ll leave you to confer of home affairs .
When you have done , we look to hear from you .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

I will .
Even as one heat another heat expels ,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another ,
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten .
Is it mine eye , or Valentine’s praise ,
Her true perfection , or my false transgression ,
That makes me reasonless to reason thus ?
She is fair , and so is Julia that I love —
That I did love , for now my love is thawed ,
Which like a waxen image ’gainst a fire
Bears no impression of the thing it was .
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold ,
And that I love him not as I was wont .
O , but I love his lady too too much ,
And that’s the reason I love him so little .
How shall I dote on her with more advice
That thus without advice begin to love her ?
’Tis but her picture I have yet beheld ,
And that hath dazzled my reason’s light ;
But when I look on her perfections ,
There is no reason but I shall be blind .
If I can check my erring love , I will ;
If not , to compass her I’ll use my skill .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Ay , and what I do too . Look thee , I’ll but lean ,
and my staff understands me .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


O , know’st thou not his looks are my soul’s food ?
Pity the dearth that I have pinèd in
By longing for that food so long a time .
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love ,
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow
As seek to quench the fire of love with words .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


Not like a woman , for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men .
Gentle Lucetta , fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


Proteus , I thank thee for thine honest care ,
Which to requite command me while I live .
This love of theirs myself have often seen ,
Haply when they have judged me fast asleep ,
And oftentimes have purposed to forbid
Sir Valentine her company and my court .
But fearing lest my jealous aim might err
And so , unworthily , disgrace the man —
A rashness that I ever yet have shunned —
I gave him gentle looks , thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclosed to me .
And that thou mayst perceive my fear of this ,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested ,
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower ,
The key whereof myself have ever kept ,
And thence she cannot be conveyed away .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


Now , as thou art a gentleman of blood ,
Advise me where I may have such a ladder .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


And why not death , rather than living torment ?
To die is to be banished from myself ,
And Sylvia is myself ; banished from her
Is self from self — a deadly banishment .
What light is light if Sylvia be not seen ?
What joy is joy if Sylvia be not by —
Unless it be to think that she is by
And feed upon the shadow of perfection ?
Except I be by Sylvia in the night ,
There is no music in the nightingale .
Unless I look on Sylvia in the day ,
There is no day for me to look upon .
She is my essence , and I leave to be
If I be not by her fair influence
Fostered , illumined , cherished , kept alive .
I fly not death , to fly his deadly doom ;
Tarry I here , I but attend on death ,
But fly I hence , I fly away from life .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

I am but a fool , look you , and yet I have the wit
to think my master is a kind of a knave , but that’s all
one if he be but one knave . He lives not now that
knows me to be in love , yet I am in love , but a team
of horse shall not pluck that from me , nor who ’tis I
love ; and yet ’tis a woman , but what woman I will
not tell myself ; and yet ’tis a milk-maid ; yet ’tis not a
maid , for she hath had gossips ; yet ’tis a maid , for
she is her master’s maid and serves for wages . She
hath more qualities than a water spaniel , which is
much in a bare Christian . Here is the catalog of her condition .
Imprimis , She can fetch and carry . Why , a
horse can do no more ; nay , a horse cannot fetch but
only carry ; therefore is she better than a jade .
Item , She can milk . Look you , a sweet
virtue in a maid with clean hands .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace
Let me not live to look upon your Grace .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

When a man’s servant shall play the cur with
him , look you , it goes hard — one that I brought up
of a puppy , one that I saved from drowning when
three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went
to it . I have taught him even as one would say
precisely Thus I would teach a dog . I was sent to
deliver him as a present to Mistress Sylvia from my
master ; and I came no sooner into the dining
chamber but he steps me to her trencher and steals
her capon’s leg . O , ’tis a foul thing when a cur
cannot keep himself in all companies ! I would have ,
as one should say , one that takes upon him to be a
dog indeed ; to be , as it were , a dog at all things . If I
had not had more wit than he , to take a fault upon
me that he did , I think verily he had been hanged
for ’t . Sure as I live , he had suffered for ’t . You shall
judge . He thrusts me himself into the company of
three or four gentlemanlike dogs under the Duke’s
table ; he had not been there — bless the mark ! — a
pissing while but all the chamber smelt him . Out
with the dog ! says one . What cur is that ? says
another . Whip him out ! says the third . Hang him
up ! says the Duke . I , having been acquainted with
the smell before , knew it was Crab , and goes me to
the fellow that whips the dogs . Friend , quoth I ,
You mean to whip the dog ? Ay , marry , do I ,
quoth he . You do him the more wrong , quoth I .
’Twas I did the thing you wot of . He makes me no
more ado but whips me out of the chamber . How
many masters would do this for his servant ? Nay ,
I’ll be sworn I have sat in the stocks for puddings he
hath stolen ; otherwise he had been executed . I have
stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed ; otherwise
he had suffered for ’t . Thou think’st
not of this now . Nay , I remember the trick you
served me when I took my leave of Madam Sylvia .
Did not I bid thee still mark me , and do as I do ?
When didst thou see me heave up my leg and make
water against a gentlewoman’s farthingale ? Didst
thou ever see me do such a trick ?

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


I pray thee let me look on that again .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

There , hold .
I will not look upon your master’s lines ;
I know they are stuffed with protestations
And full of new-found oaths , which he will break
As easily as I do tear his paper .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


She hath been fairer , madam , than she is ;
When she did think my master loved her well ,
She , in my judgment , was as fair as you .
But since she did neglect her looking-glass
And threw her sun-expelling mask away ,
The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks
And pinched the lily tincture of her face ,
That now she is become as black as I .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


’Tis true , such pearls as put out ladies’ eyes ,
For I had rather wink than look on them .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


Madam , this service I have done for you —
Though you respect not aught your servant doth —
To hazard life , and rescue you from him
That would have forced your honor and your love .
Vouchsafe me for my meed but one fair look ;
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg ,
And less than this I am sure you cannot give .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona


What dangerous action , stood it next to death ,
Would I not undergo for one calm look !
O , ’tis the curse in love , and still approved ,
When women cannot love where they’re beloved .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Look to the boy .

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Why , boy !
Why , wag , how now ? What’s the matter ? Look up .
Speak .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Honored Hippolyta ,
Most dreaded Amazonian , that hast slain
The scythe-tusked boar ; that with thy arm , as strong
As it is white , wast near to make the male
To thy sex captive , but that this thy lord ,
Born to uphold creation in that honor
First nature styled it in , shrunk thee into
The bound thou wast o’erflowing , at once subduing
Thy force and thy affection ; soldieress
That equally canst poise sternness with pity ,
Whom now I know hast much more power on him
Than ever he had on thee , who ow’st his strength
And his love too , who is a servant for
The tenor of thy speech , dear glass of ladies ,
Bid him that we , whom flaming war doth scorch ,
Under the shadow of his sword may cool us ;
Require him he advance it o’er our heads ;
Speak ’t in a woman’s key , like such a woman
As any of us three ; weep ere you fail .
Lend us a knee ;
But touch the ground for us no longer time
Than a dove’s motion when the head’s plucked off .
Tell him if he i’ th’ blood-sized field lay swoll’n ,
Showing the sun his teeth , grinning at the moon ,
What you would do .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Pray stand up .

I am entreating of myself to do
That which you kneel to have me . — Pirithous ,
Lead on the bride ; get you and pray the gods
For success and return ; omit not anything
In the pretended celebration . — Queens ,
Follow your soldier . As before , hence
you ,
And at the banks of Aulis meet us with
The forces you can raise , where we shall find
The moiety of a number for a business
More bigger looked .
Since that our theme is haste ,
I stamp this kiss upon thy currant lip ;
Sweet , keep it as my token . — Set you forward ,
For I will see you gone .

Farewell , my beauteous sister . — Pirithous ,
Keep the feast full ; bate not an hour on ’t .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


Dear Palamon , dearer in love than blood
And our prime cousin , yet unhardened in
The crimes of nature , let us leave the city
Thebes , and the temptings in ’t , before we further
Sully our gloss of youth ,
And here to keep in abstinence we shame
As in incontinence ; for not to swim
I’ th’ aid o’ th’ current were almost to sink ,
At least to frustrate striving ; and to follow
The common stream , ’twould bring us to an eddy
Where we should turn or drown ; if labor through ,
Our gain but life and weakness .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

He .
A most unbounded tyrant , whose successes
Makes heaven unfeared and villainy assured
Beyond its power there’s nothing ; almost puts
Faith in a fever , and deifies alone
Voluble chance ; who only attributes
The faculties of other instruments
To his own nerves and act ; commands men service ,
And what they win in ’t , boot and glory ; one
That fears not to do harm ; good , dares not . Let
The blood of mine that’s sib to him be sucked
From me with leeches ; let them break and fall
Off me with that corruption .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Clear-spirited cousin ,
Let’s leave his court , that we may nothing share
Of his loud infamy ; for our milk
Will relish of the pasture , and we must
Be vile or disobedient , not his kinsmen
In blood unless in quality .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Let’s to the King , who , were he
A quarter carrier of that honor which
His enemy come in , the blood we venture
Should be as for our health , which were not spent ,
Rather laid out for purchase . But alas ,
Our hands advanced before our hearts , what will
The fall o’ th’ stroke do damage ?

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Doubtless
There is a best , and reason has no manners
To say it is not you . I was acquainted
Once with a time when I enjoyed a playfellow ;
You were at wars when she the grave enriched ,
Who made too proud the bed ; took leave o’ th’ moon ,
Which then looked pale at parting , when our count
Was each eleven .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


Th’ impartial gods , who from the mounted heavens
View us their mortal herd , behold who err
And , in their time , chastise . Go and find out
The bones of your dead lords and honor them
With treble ceremony ; rather than a gap
Should be in their dear rites , we would supply ’t ;
But those we will depute which shall invest
You in your dignities and even each thing
Our haste does leave imperfect . So , adieu ,
And heaven’s good eyes look on you .



What are those ?

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Urns and odors bring away ;
Vapors , sighs , darken the day ;
Our dole more deadly looks than dying ;
Balms and gums and heavy cheers ,
Sacred vials filled with tears ,
And clamors through the wild air flying .
Come , all sad and solemn shows
That are quick-eyed Pleasure’s foes ;
We convent naught else but woes .
We convent naught else but woes .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Your friend and I have chanced
to name you here , upon the old business . But no
more of that now ; so soon as the court hurry is
over , we will have an end of it . I’ th’ meantime ,
look tenderly to the two prisoners . I can tell you
they are princes .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Nay , most likely , for they are noble suff’rers .
I marvel how they would have looked had they
been victors , that with such a constant nobility enforce
a freedom out of bondage , making misery
their mirth and affliction a toy to jest at .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

It seems to me they have no more sense
of their captivity than I of ruling Athens . They eat
well , look merrily , discourse of many things , but
nothing of their own restraint and disasters . Yet
sometimes a divided sigh , martyred as ’twere i’ th’
deliverance , will break from one of them — when
the other presently gives it so sweet a rebuke that
I could wish myself a sigh to be so chid , or at least
a sigher to be comforted .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

The Duke himself came privately in the night ,
and so did they .



What the reason of it is , I know not . Look , yonder
they are ; that’s Arcite looks out .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

It is a holiday to look on them . Lord , the
diff’rence of men !

The Two Noble Kinsmen


’Tis too true , Arcite . To our Theban hounds
That shook the agèd forest with their echoes
No more now must we halloo ; no more shake
Our pointed javelins whilst the angry swine
Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages ,
Struck with our well-steeled darts . All valiant uses ,
The food and nourishment of noble minds ,
In us two here shall perish ; we shall die ,
Which is the curse of honor , lastly ,
Children of grief and ignorance .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


I , that first saw her ; I that took possession
First with mine eye of all those beauties
In her revealed to mankind . If thou lov’st her ,
Or entertain’st a hope to blast my wishes ,
Thou art a traitor , Arcite , and a fellow
False as thy title to her . Friendship , blood ,
And all the ties between us I disclaim
If thou once think upon her .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


Yes , and have found me so . Why are you moved
thus ?
Let me deal coldly with you : am not I
Part of your blood , part of your soul ? You have
told me
That I was Palamon and you were Arcite .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

And me too ,
Even when you please , of life . — Why is he sent for ?
It may be he shall marry her ; he’s goodly ,
And like enough the Duke hath taken notice
Both of his blood and body . But his falsehood !
Why should a friend be treacherous ? If that
Get him a wife so noble and so fair ,
Let honest men ne’er love again . Once more
I would but see this fair one . Blessèd garden
And fruit and flowers more blessèd that still
blossom
As her bright eyes shine on you , would I were ,
For all the fortune of my life hereafter ,
Yon little tree , yon blooming apricock !
How I would spread and fling my wanton arms
In at her window ; I would bring her fruit
Fit for the gods to feed on ; youth and pleasure
Still as she tasted should be doubled on her ;
And , if she be not heavenly , I would make her
So near the gods in nature , they should fear her .



And then I am sure she would love me . — How now ,
keeper ,
Where’s Arcite ?

The Two Noble Kinsmen


Why should I love this gentleman ? ’Tis odds
He never will affect me . I am base ,
My father the mean keeper of his prison ,
And he a prince . To marry him is hopeless ;
To be his whore is witless . Out upon ’t !
What pushes are we wenches driven to
When fifteen once has found us ! First , I saw him ;
I , seeing , thought he was a goodly man ;
He has as much to please a woman in him ,
If he please to bestow it so , as ever
These eyes yet looked on . Next , I pitied him ,
And so would any young wench , o’ my conscience ,
That ever dreamed , or vowed her maidenhead
To a young handsome man . Then I loved him ,
Extremely loved him , infinitely loved him !
And yet he had a cousin , fair as he too .
But in my heart was Palamon , and there ,
Lord , what a coil he keeps ! To hear him
Sing in an evening , what a heaven it is !
And yet his songs are sad ones . Fairer spoken
Was never gentleman . When I come in
To bring him water in a morning , first
He bows his noble body , then salutes me thus :
Fair , gentle maid , good morrow . May thy goodness
Get thee a happy husband . Once he kissed me ;
I loved my lips the better ten days after .
Would he would do so ev’ry day ! He grieves much —
And me as much to see his misery .
What should I do to make him know I love him ?
For I would fain enjoy him . Say I ventured
To set him free ? What says the law then ?
Thus much for law or kindred ! I will do it ,
And this night , or tomorrow , he shall love me .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


Let all the dukes and all the devils roar !
He is at liberty . I have ventured for him ,
And out I have brought him ; to a little wood
A mile hence I have sent him , where a cedar
Higher than all the rest spreads like a plane
Fast by a brook , and there he shall keep close
Till I provide him files and food , for yet
His iron bracelets are not off . O Love ,
What a stout-hearted child thou art ! My father
Durst better have endured cold iron than done it .
I love him beyond love and beyond reason
Or wit or safety . I have made him know it ;
I care not , I am desperate . If the law
Find me and then condemn me for ’t , some wenches ,
Some honest-hearted maids , will sing my dirge
And tell to memory my death was noble ,
Dying almost a martyr . That way he takes
I purpose is my way too . Sure he cannot
Be so unmanly as to leave me here .
If he do , maids will not so easily
Trust men again . And yet he has not thanked me
For what I have done ; no , not so much as kissed me ,
And that , methinks , is not so well ; nor scarcely
Could I persuade him to become a free man ,
He made such scruples of the wrong he did
To me and to my father . Yet I hope ,
When he considers more , this love of mine
Will take more root within him . Let him do
What he will with me , so he use me kindly ;
For use me so he shall , or I’ll proclaim him ,
And to his face , no man . I’ll presently
Provide him necessaries and pack my clothes up ,
And where there is a path of ground I’ll venture ,
So he be with me . By him like a shadow
I’ll ever dwell . Within this hour the hubbub
Will be all o’er the prison . I am then
Kissing the man they look for . Farewell , father !
Get many more such prisoners and such daughters ,
And shortly you may keep yourself . Now to him .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


The Duke has lost Hippolyta ; each took
A several laund . This is a solemn rite
They owe bloomed May , and the Athenians pay it
To th’ heart of ceremony . O Queen Emilia ,
Fresher than May , sweeter
Than her gold buttons on the boughs , or all
Th’ enameled knacks o’ th’ mead or garden — yea ,
We challenge too the bank of any nymph
That makes the stream seem flowers ; thou , O jewel
O’ th’ wood , o’ th’ world , hast likewise blessed a pace
With thy sole presence . In thy rumination
That I , poor man , might eftsoons come between
And chop on some cold thought ! Thrice blessèd
chance
To drop on such a mistress , expectation
Most guiltless on ’t . Tell me , O Lady Fortune ,
Next after Emily my sovereign , how far
I may be proud . She takes strong note of me ,
Hath made me near her ; and this beauteous morn ,
The prim’st of all the year , presents me with
A brace of horses ; two such steeds might well
Be by a pair of kings backed , in a field
That their crowns’ titles tried . Alas , alas ,
Poor cousin Palamon , poor prisoner , thou
So little dream’st upon my fortune that
Thou think’st thyself the happier thing , to be
So near Emilia ; me thou deem’st at Thebes ,
And therein wretched , although free . But if
Thou knew’st my mistress breathed on me , and that
I eared her language , lived in her eye — O coz ,
What passion would enclose thee !

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Traitor kinsman ,
Thou shouldst perceive my passion if these signs
Of prisonment were off me , and this hand
But owner of a sword . By all oaths in one ,
I and the justice of my love would make thee
A confessed traitor , O thou most perfidious
That ever gently looked , the void’st of honor
That e’er bore gentle token , falsest cousin
That ever blood made kin ! Call’st thou her thine ?
I’ll prove it in my shackles , with these hands ,
Void of appointment , that thou liest , and art
A very thief in love , a chaffy lord ,
Nor worth the name of villain . Had I a sword ,
And these house clogs away —

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Nay , pray you ,
You talk of feeding me to breed me strength .
You are going now to look upon a sun
That strengthens what it looks on ; there
You have a vantage o’er me , but enjoy ’t till
I may enforce my remedy . Farewell .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


Drink a good hearty draught ; it breeds good blood ,
man .
Do not you feel it thaw you ?

The Two Noble Kinsmen


I am very cold , and all the stars are out too ,
The little stars and all , that look like aglets .
The sun has seen my folly . — Palamon !
Alas , no ; he’s in heaven . Where am I now ?
Yonder’s the sea , and there’s a ship . How ’t tumbles !
And there’s a rock lies watching under water .
Now , now , it beats upon it ; now , now , now ,
There’s a leak sprung , a sound one ! How they cry !
Open her before the wind ; you’ll lose all else .
Up with a course or two , and tack about , boys !
Good night , good night ; you’re gone . I am very
hungry .
Would I could find a fine frog ; he would tell me
News from all parts o’ th’ world ; then would I make
A carrack of a cockleshell , and sail
By east and northeast to the king of pygmies ,
For he tells fortunes rarely . Now my father ,
Twenty to one , is trussed up in a trice
Tomorrow morning . I’ll say never a word .

For I’ll cut my green coat a foot above my knee ,
And I’ll clip my yellow locks an inch below mine
eye .
Hey nonny , nonny , nonny .
He’s buy me a white cut , forth for to ride ,
And I’ll go seek him through the world that is so
wide .
Hey nonny , nonny , nonny .
O , for a prick now , like a nightingale ,
To put my breast against . I shall sleep like a top else .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

I can tell your fortune . You are a fool . Tell ten . — I have posed him .
Buzz ! — Friend , you must eat no white bread ; if
you do , your teeth will bleed extremely . Shall we
dance , ho ? I know you , you’re a tinker . Sirrah tinker ,
stop no more holes but what you should .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


If you but favor , our country pastime made is .
We are a few of those collected here
That ruder tongues distinguish villager .
And to say verity , and not to fable ,
We are a merry rout , or else a rabble ,
Or company , or by a figure , chorus ,
That ’fore thy dignity will dance a morris .
And I that am the rectifier of all ,
By title pedagogus , that let fall
The birch upon the breeches of the small ones ,
And humble with a ferula the tall ones ,
Do here present this machine , or this frame .
And , dainty duke , whose doughty dismal fame
From Dis to Daedalus , from post to pillar ,
Is blown abroad , help me , thy poor well-willer ,
And with thy twinkling eyes look right and straight
Upon this mighty Morr , of mickle weight —
Is now comes in , which being glued together
Makes Morris , and the cause that we came hither .
The body of our sport , of no small study ,
I first appear , though rude , and raw , and muddy ,
To speak before thy noble grace this tenner ,
At whose great feet I offer up my penner .
The next , the Lord of May and Lady bright ,
The Chambermaid and Servingman by night
That seek out silent hanging ; then mine Host
And his fat Spouse , that welcomes to their cost
The gallèd traveler , and with a beck’ning
Informs the tapster to inflame the reck’ning ;
Then the beest-eating Clown ; and next the Fool ,
The Bavian with long tail and eke long tool ,
Cum multis aliis that make a dance ;
Say ay , and all shall presently advance .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Thank you , Arcite .
How do I look ? Am I fall’n much away ?

The Two Noble Kinsmen


This only , and no more : thou art mine aunt’s son .
And that blood we desire to shed is mutual —
In me thine , and in thee mine . My sword
Is in my hand , and if thou kill’st me ,
The gods and I forgive thee . If there be
A place prepared for those that sleep in honor ,
I wish his weary soul that falls may win it .
Fight bravely , cousin . Give me thy noble hand .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Look to thine own well , Arcite .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Say , Emilia ,
If one of them were dead , as one must , are you
Content to take th’ other to your husband ?
They cannot both enjoy you . They are princes
As goodly as your own eyes , and as noble
As ever fame yet spoke of . Look upon ’em ,
And , if you can love , end this difference .
I give consent . — Are you content too , princes ?

The Two Noble Kinsmen

How he looks !

The Two Noble Kinsmen

I made in to her .
She saw me , and straight sought the flood . I saved
her
And set her safe to land , when presently
She slipped away , and to the city made
With such a cry and swiftness that , believe me ,
She left me far behind her . Three or four
I saw from far off cross her — one of ’em
I knew to be your brother — where she stayed
And fell , scarce to be got away . I left them with her
And hither came to tell you .



Here they are .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

But she shall never have him — tell her so —
for a trick that I know ; you’d best look to her , for
if she see him once , she’s gone , she’s done and
undone in an hour . All the young maids of our
town are in love with him , but I laugh at ’em and
let ’em all alone . Is ’t not a wise course ?

The Two Noble Kinsmen


Yet I may bind those wounds up that must open
And bleed to death for my sake else . I’ll choose ,
And end their strife . Two such young handsome men
Shall never fall for me ; their weeping mothers ,
Following the dead cold ashes of their sons ,
Shall never curse my cruelty .

Good heaven ,
What a sweet face has Arcite ! If wise Nature ,
With all her best endowments , all those beauties
She sows into the births of noble bodies ,
Were here a mortal woman , and had in her
The coy denials of young maids , yet doubtless
She would run mad for this man . What an eye ,
Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness ,
Has this young prince ! Here Love himself sits
smiling ;
Just such another wanton Ganymede
Set Jove afire with , and enforced the god
Snatch up the goodly boy and set him by him ,
A shining constellation . What a brow ,
Of what a spacious majesty , he carries ,
Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s but far sweeter ,
Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder ! Fame and Honor ,
Methinks , from hence as from a promontory
Pointed in heaven , should clap their wings and sing
To all the under world the loves and fights
Of gods and such men near ’em .

Palamon
Is but his foil , to him a mere dull shadow ;
He’s swart and meager , of an eye as heavy
As if he had lost his mother ; a still temper ,
No stirring in him , no alacrity ;
Of all this sprightly sharpness not a smile .
Yet these that we count errors may become him ;
Narcissus was a sad boy but a heavenly .
O , who can find the bent of woman’s fancy ?
I am a fool ; my reason is lost in me ;
I have no choice , and I have lied so lewdly
That women ought to beat me . On my knees
I ask thy pardon : Palamon , thou art alone
And only beautiful , and these the eyes ,
These the bright lamps of beauty , that command
And threaten love , and what young maid dare cross
’em ?
What a bold gravity , and yet inviting ,
Has this brown manly face ! O Love , this only
From this hour is complexion . Lie there , Arcite .

Thou art a changeling to him , a mere gypsy ,
And this the noble body . I am sotted ,
Utterly lost . My virgin’s faith has fled me .
For if my brother but even now had asked me
Whether I loved , I had run mad for Arcite .
Now , if my sister , more for Palamon .
Stand both together . Now , come ask me , brother .
Alas , I know not ! Ask me now , sweet sister .
I may go look ! What a mere child is Fancy ,
That , having two fair gauds of equal sweetness ,
Cannot distinguish , but must cry for both .



How now , sir ?

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Would I might end first !
What sins have I committed , chaste Diana ,
That my unspotted youth must now be soiled
With blood of princes , and my chastity
Be made the altar where the lives of lovers —
Two greater and two better never yet
Made mothers joy — must be the sacrifice
To my unhappy beauty ?

The Two Noble Kinsmen

I will , sir ,
And truly what I think . Six braver spirits
Than these they have brought , if we judge by the
outside ,
I never saw nor read of . He that stands
In the first place with Arcite , by his seeming ,
Should be a stout man , by his face a prince —
His very looks so say him ; his complexion
Nearer a brown than black — stern and yet noble —
Which shows him hardy , fearless , proud of dangers ;
The circles of his eyes show fire within him ,
And as a heated lion , so he looks .
His hair hangs long behind him , black and shining
Like ravens’ wings ; his shoulders broad and strong ,
Armed long and round ; and on his thigh a sword
Hung by a curious baldric , when he frowns
To seal his will with . Better , o’ my conscience ,
Was never soldier’s friend .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

There’s another —
A little man , but of a tough soul , seeming
As great as any ; fairer promises
In such a body yet I never looked on .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

I wish it ,
But not the cause , my lord . They would show
Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms ;
’Tis pity love should be so tyrannous . —
O , my soft-hearted sister , what think you ?
Weep not till they weep blood . Wench , it must be .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

She is continually in a harmless distemper ,
sleeps little , altogether without appetite , save often
drinking , dreaming of another world , and a better ;
and what broken piece of matter soe’er she’s about ,
the name Palamon lards it , that she farces ev’ry
business withal , fits it to every question .



Look where she comes ; you shall perceive her
behavior .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Farewell , sir .

Knights , kinsmen , lovers , yea , my sacrifices ,
True worshippers of Mars , whose spirit in you
Expels the seeds of fear and th’ apprehension
Which still is father of it , go with me
Before the god of our profession . There
Require of him the hearts of lions and
The breath of tigers , yea , the fierceness too ,
Yea , the speed also — to go on , I mean ;
Else wish we to be snails . You know my prize
Must be dragged out of blood ; force and great feat
Must put my garland on , where she sticks ,
The queen of flowers . Our intercession , then ,
Must be to him that makes the camp a cistern
Brimmed with the blood of men . Give me your aid ,
And bend your spirits towards him .

Thou mighty one , that with thy power hast turned
Green Neptune into purple , whose approach
Comets prewarn , whose havoc in vast field
Unearthèd skulls proclaim , whose breath blows
down
The teeming Ceres’ foison , who dost pluck
With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds
The masoned turrets , that both mak’st and break’st
The stony girths of cities ; me thy pupil ,
Youngest follower of thy drum , instruct this day
With military skill , that to thy laud
I may advance my streamer , and by thee
Be styled the lord o’ th’ day . Give me , great Mars ,
Some token of thy pleasure .

O , great corrector of enormous times ,
Shaker of o’er-rank states , thou grand decider
Of dusty and old titles , that heal’st with blood
The Earth earth when it is sick , and cur’st the world
O’ th’ pleurisy of people , I do take
Thy signs auspiciously , and in thy name
To my design march boldly . — Let us go .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


O sacred , shadowy , cold , and constant queen ,
Abandoner of revels , mute contemplative ,
Sweet , solitary , white as chaste , and pure
As wind-fanned snow , who to thy female knights
Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush ,
Which is their order’s robe , I here , thy priest ,
Am humbled ’fore thine altar . O , vouchsafe
With that thy rare green eye , which never yet
Beheld thing maculate , look on thy virgin ,
And , sacred silver mistress , lend thine ear —
Which ne’er heard scurrile term , into whose port
Ne’er entered wanton sound — to my petition ,
Seasoned with holy fear . This is my last
Of vestal office . I am bride-habited
But maiden-hearted . A husband I have ’pointed ,
But do not know him . Out of two I should
Choose one , and pray for his success , but I
Am guiltless of election . Of mine eyes ,
Were I to lose one — they are equal precious —
I could doom neither ; that which perished should
Go to ’t unsentenced . Therefore , most modest queen ,
He of the two pretenders that best loves me
And has the truest title in ’t , let him
Take off my wheaten garland , or else grant
The file and quality I hold I may
Continue in thy band .

See what our general of ebbs and flows
Out from the bowels of her holy altar
With sacred act advances : but one rose .
If well inspired , this battle shall confound
Both these brave knights , and I , a virgin flower ,
Must grow alone unplucked .

The flower is fall’n , the tree descends . O mistress ,
Thou here dischargest me . I shall be gathered ;
I think so , but I know not thine own will .
Unclasp thy mystery ! — I hope she’s pleased ;
Her signs were gracious .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Then he has won . ’Twas ever likely .
He looked all grace and success , and he is
Doubtless the prim’st of men . I prithee run
And tell me how it goes .

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Half-sights saw
That Arcite was no babe . God’s lid , his richness
And costliness of spirit looked through him ; it could
No more be hid in him than fire in flax ,
Than humble banks can go to law with waters
That drift-winds force to raging . I did think
Good Palamon would miscarry , yet I knew not
Why I did think so . Our reasons are not prophets
When oft our fancies are . They are coming off .
Alas , poor Palamon !

The Two Noble Kinsmen

Never Fortune
Did play a subtler game . The conquered triumphs ;
The victor has the loss ; yet in the passage
The gods have been most equal . — Palamon ,
Your kinsman hath confessed the right o’ th’ lady
Did lie in you , for you first saw her and
Even then proclaimed your fancy . He restored her
As your stol’n jewel and desired your spirit
To send him hence forgiven . The gods my justice
Take from my hand and they themselves become
The executioners . Lead your lady off ,
And call your lovers from the stage of death ,
Whom I adopt my friends . A day or two
Let us look sadly , and give grace unto
The funeral of Arcite , in whose end
The visages of bridegrooms we’ll put on
And smile with Palamon — for whom an hour ,
But one hour since , I was as dearly sorry
As glad of Arcite , and am now as glad
As for him sorry . O you heavenly charmers ,
What things you make of us ! For what we lack
We laugh , for what we have are sorry , still
Are children in some kind . Let us be thankful
For that which is , and with you leave dispute
That are above our question . Let’s go off
And bear us like the time .

The Two Noble Kinsmen


I would now ask you how you like the play ,
But , as it is with schoolboys , cannot say .
I am cruel fearful ! Pray yet , stay a while ,
And let me look upon you . No man smile ?
Then it goes hard , I see . He that has
Loved a young handsome wench , then , show his
face —
’Tis strange if none be here — and , if he will ,
Against his conscience let him hiss and kill
Our market . ’Tis in vain , I see , to stay you .
Have at the worst can come , then ! Now what say
you ?
And yet mistake me not : I am not bold .
We have no such cause . If the tale we have told —
For ’tis no other — any way content you —
For to that honest purpose it was meant you —
We have our end ; and you shall have ere long ,
I dare say , many a better , to prolong
Your old loves to us . We , and all our might ,
Rest at your service . Gentlemen , good night .

The Winter's Tale


We were as twinned lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun
And bleat the one at th’ other . What we changed
Was innocence for innocence . We knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing , nor dreamed
That any did . Had we pursued that life ,
And our weak spirits ne’er been higher reared
With stronger blood , we should have answered
heaven
Boldly Not guilty , the imposition cleared
Hereditary ours .

The Winter's Tale

Too hot , too hot !
To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods .
I have tremor cordis on me . My heart dances ,
But not for joy , not joy . This entertainment
May a free face put on , derive a liberty
From heartiness , from bounty , fertile bosom ,
And well become the agent . ’T may , I grant .
But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers ,
As now they are , and making practiced smiles
As in a looking glass , and then to sigh , as ’twere
The mort o’ th’ deer — O , that is entertainment
My bosom likes not , nor my brows . — Mamillius ,
Art thou my boy ?

The Winter's Tale


Thou want’st a rough pash and the shoots that I
have
To be full like me ; yet they say we are
Almost as like as eggs . Women say so ,
That will say anything . But were they false
As o’erdyed blacks , as wind , as waters , false
As dice are to be wished by one that fixes
No bourn ’twixt his and mine , yet were it true
To say this boy were like me . Come , sir page ,
Look on me with your welkin eye . Sweet villain ,
Most dear’st , my collop ! Can thy dam ? — may ’t
be ? —
Affection , thy intention stabs the center .
Thou dost make possible things not so held ,
Communicat’st with dreams — how can this be ?
With what’s unreal thou coactive art ,
And fellow’st nothing . Then ’tis very credent
Thou may’st co-join with something ; and thou dost ,
And that beyond commission , and I find it ,
And that to the infection of my brains
And hard’ning of my brows .

The Winter's Tale

You look
As if you held a brow of much distraction .
Are you moved , my lord ?

The Winter's Tale

No , in good earnest .
How sometimes nature will betray its folly ,
Its tenderness , and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines
Of my boy’s face , methoughts I did recoil
Twenty-three years , and saw myself unbreeched ,
In my green velvet coat , my dagger muzzled
Lest it should bite its master and so prove ,
As ornaments oft do , too dangerous .
How like , methought , I then was to this kernel ,
This squash , this gentleman . — Mine honest friend ,
Will you take eggs for money ?

The Winter's Tale

If at home , sir ,
He’s all my exercise , my mirth , my matter ,
Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy ,
My parasite , my soldier , statesman , all .
He makes a July’s day short as December ,
And with his varying childness cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood .

The Winter's Tale

Make that thy question , and go rot !
Dost think I am so muddy , so unsettled ,
To appoint myself in this vexation , sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets —
Which to preserve is sleep , which being spotted
Is goads , thorns , nettles , tails of wasps —
Give scandal to the blood o’ th’ Prince , my son ,
Who I do think is mine and love as mine ,
Without ripe moving to ’t ? Would I do this ?
Could man so blench ?

The Winter's Tale

How caught of me ?
Make me not sighted like the basilisk .
I have looked on thousands who have sped the
better
By my regard , but killed none so . Camillo ,
As you are certainly a gentleman , thereto
Clerklike experienced , which no less adorns
Our gentry than our parents’ noble names ,
In whose success we are gentle , I beseech you ,
If you know aught which does behoove my
knowledge
Thereof to be informed , imprison ’t not
In ignorant concealment .

The Winter's Tale

O , then my best blood turn
To an infected jelly , and my name
Be yoked with his that did betray the Best !
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savor that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive , and my approach be shunned ,
Nay , hated too , worse than the great’st infection
That e’er was heard or read .

The Winter's Tale

I know ’t too well .
Give me the boy . I am glad you did
not nurse him .
Though he does bear some signs of me , yet you
Have too much blood in him .

The Winter's Tale

You , my lords ,
Look on her , mark her well . Be but about
To say She is a goodly lady , and
The justice of your hearts will thereto add
’Tis pity she’s not honest , honorable .
Praise her but for this her without-door form ,
Which on my faith deserves high speech , and
straight
The shrug , the hum , or ha , these petty brands
That calumny doth use — O , I am out ,
That mercy does , for calumny will sear
Virtue itself — these shrugs , these hum s and ha s ,
When you have said she’s goodly , come between
Ere you can say she’s honest . But be ’t known ,
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be ,
She’s an adult’ress .

The Winter's Tale

There’s some ill planet reigns .
I must be patient till the heavens look
With an aspect more favorable . Good my lords ,
I am not prone to weeping , as our sex
Commonly are , the want of which vain dew
Perchance shall dry your pities . But I have
That honorable grief lodged here which burns
Worse than tears drown . Beseech you all , my lords ,
With thoughts so qualified as your charities
Shall best instruct you , measure me ; and so
The King’s will be performed .

The Winter's Tale

I dare be sworn .
These dangerous unsafe lunes i’ th’ King , beshrew
them !
He must be told on ’t , and he shall . The office
Becomes a woman best . I’ll take ’t upon me .
If I prove honey-mouthed , let my tongue blister
And never to my red-looked anger be
The trumpet anymore . Pray you , Emilia ,
Commend my best obedience to the Queen .
If she dares trust me with her little babe ,
I’ll show ’t the King and undertake to be
Her advocate to th’ loud’st We do not know
How he may soften at the sight o’ th’ child .
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades when speaking fails .

The Winter's Tale


I pray you do not push me ; I’ll be gone . —
Look to your babe , my lord ; ’tis yours . Jove send her
A better guiding spirit . — What needs these hands ?
You that are thus so tender o’er his follies
Will never do him good , not one of you .
So , so . Farewell , we are gone .

The Winter's Tale


Beseech your Highness , give us better credit .
We have always truly served you , and beseech
So to esteem of us . And on our knees we beg ,
As recompense of our dear services
Past and to come , that you do change this purpose ,
Which being so horrible , so bloody , must
Lead on to some foul issue . We all kneel .

The Winter's Tale

Anything , my lord ,
That my ability may undergo
And nobleness impose . At least thus much :
I’ll pawn the little blood which I have left
To save the innocent . Anything possible .

The Winter's Tale

Your actions are my dreams .
You had a bastard by Polixenes ,
And I but dreamed it . As you were past all shame —
Those of your fact are so — so past all truth ,
Which to deny concerns more than avails ; for as
Thy brat hath been cast out , like to itself ,
No father owning it — which is indeed
More criminal in thee than it — so thou
Shalt feel our justice , in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death .

The Winter's Tale


This news is mortal to the Queen . Look down
And see what death is doing .

The Winter's Tale

Take her hence .
Her heart is but o’ercharged . She will recover .
I have too much believed mine own suspicion .
Beseech you , tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life .



Apollo , pardon
My great profaneness ’gainst thine oracle .
I’ll reconcile me to Polixenes ,
New woo my queen , recall the good Camillo ,
Whom I proclaim a man of truth , of mercy ;
For , being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge , I chose
Camillo for the minister to poison
My friend Polixenes , which had been done
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command , though I with death and with
Reward did threaten and encourage him ,
Not doing it and being done . He , most humane
And filled with honor , to my kingly guest
Unclasped my practice , quit his fortunes here ,
Which you knew great , and to the hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended ,
No richer than his honor . How he glisters
Through my rust , and how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker !

The Winter's Tale


I say she’s dead . I’ll swear ’t . If word nor oath
Prevail not , go and see . If you can bring
Tincture or luster in her lip , her eye ,
Heat outwardly or breath within , I’ll serve you
As I would do the gods . — But , O thou tyrant ,
Do not repent these things , for they are heavier
Than all thy woes can stir . Therefore betake thee
To nothing but despair . A thousand knees
Ten thousand years together , naked , fasting ,
Upon a barren mountain , and still winter
In storm perpetual , could not move the gods
To look that way thou wert .

The Winter's Tale

Ay , my lord , and fear
We have landed in ill time . The skies look grimly
And threaten present blusters . In my conscience ,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
And frown upon ’s .

The Winter's Tale


Their sacred wills be done . Go , get aboard .
Look to thy bark . I’ll not be long before
I call upon thee .

The Winter's Tale

Heavy matters , heavy matters . But look
thee here , boy . Now bless thyself . Thou met’st with
things dying , I with things newborn . Here’s a sight
for thee . Look thee , a bearing cloth for a squire’s
child . Look thee here . Take up , take up , boy . Open
’t . So , let’s see . It was told me I should be rich by
the fairies . This is some changeling . Open ’t . What’s
within , boy ?

The Winter's Tale

I have considered so much , Camillo , and
with some care , so far that I have eyes under my
service which look upon his removedness , from
whom I have this intelligence : that he is seldom
from the house of a most homely shepherd , a man ,
they say , that from very nothing , and beyond the
imagination of his neighbors , is grown into an
unspeakable estate .

The Winter's Tale


When daffodils begin to peer ,
With heigh , the doxy over the dale ,
Why , then comes in the sweet o’ the year ,
For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale .

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge ,
With heigh , the sweet birds , O how they sing !
Doth set my pugging tooth an edge ,
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king .

The lark , that tirralirra chants ,
With heigh , with heigh , the thrush and the jay ,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts ,
While we lie tumbling in the hay .

I have served Prince Florizell and in my time wore
three-pile , but now I am out of service .

But shall I go mourn for that , my dear ?
The pale moon shines by night ,
And when I wander here and there ,
I then do most go right .

If tinkers may have leave to live ,
And bear the sow-skin budget ,
Then my account I well may give ,
And in the stocks avouch it .
My traffic is sheets . When the kite builds , look to
lesser linen . My father named me Autolycus , who ,
being , as I am , littered under Mercury , was likewise
a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles . With die and
drab I purchased this caparison , and my revenue is
the silly cheat . Gallows and knock are too powerful
on the highway . Beating and hanging are terrors to
me . For the life to come , I sleep out the thought of
it . A prize , a prize !

The Winter's Tale

Not a more cowardly rogue in all
Bohemia . If you had but looked big and spit at him ,
he’d have run .

The Winter's Tale

Now Jove afford you cause .
To me the difference forges dread . Your greatness
Hath not been used to fear . Even now I tremble
To think your father by some accident
Should pass this way as you did . O the Fates ,
How would he look to see his work , so noble ,
Vilely bound up ? What would he say ? Or how
Should I , in these my borrowed flaunts , behold
The sternness of his presence ?

The Winter's Tale

O Doricles ,
Your praises are too large . But that your youth
And the true blood which peeps fairly through ’t
Do plainly give you out an unstained shepherd ,
With wisdom I might fear , my Doricles ,
You wooed me the false way .

The Winter's Tale

He tells her something
That makes her blood look out . Good sooth , she is
The queen of curds and cream .

The Winter's Tale


They call him Doricles , and boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding . But I have it
Upon his own report , and I believe it .
He looks like sooth . He says he loves my daughter .
I think so too , for never gazed the moon
Upon the water as he’ll stand and read ,
As ’twere , my daughter’s eyes . And , to be plain ,
I think there is not half a kiss to choose
Who loves another best .

The Winter's Tale

Old sir , I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are .
The gifts she looks from me are packed and locked
Up in my heart , which I have given already ,
But not delivered . O , hear me breathe
my life
Before this ancient sir , who , it should seem ,
Hath sometime loved . I take thy hand , this hand
As soft as dove’s down and as white as it ,
Or Ethiopian’s tooth , or the fanned snow that’s
bolted
By th’ northern blasts twice o’er .

The Winter's Tale


I’ll have thy beauty scratched with briers and made
More homely than thy state . — For thee , fond boy ,
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
That thou no more shalt see this knack — as never
I mean thou shalt — we’ll bar thee from succession ,
Not hold thee of our blood , no , not our kin ,
Far’r than Deucalion off . Mark thou my words .
Follow us to the court . Thou , churl ,
for this time ,
Though full of our displeasure , yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it . — And you , enchantment ,
Worthy enough a herdsman — yea , him too ,
That makes himself , but for our honor therein ,
Unworthy thee — if ever henceforth thou
These rural latches to his entrance open ,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces ,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee
As thou art tender to ’t .

The Winter's Tale

Even here undone .
I was not much afeard , for once or twice
I was about to speak and tell him plainly
The selfsame sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage but
Looks on alike . Will ’t please you , sir ,
be gone ?
I told you what would come of this . Beseech you ,
Of your own state take care . This dream of mine —
Being now awake , I’ll queen it no inch farther ,
But milk my ewes and weep .

The Winter's Tale

Why look you so upon me ?
I am but sorry , not afeard ; delayed ,
But nothing altered . What I was , I am ,
More straining on for plucking back , not following
My leash unwillingly .

The Winter's Tale

It cannot fail but by
The violation of my faith ; and then
Let nature crush the sides o’ th’ Earth earth together
And mar the seeds within . Lift up thy looks .
From my succession wipe me , father . I
Am heir to my affection .

The Winter's Tale

See , see , what a man
you are now ! There is no other way but to tell the
King she’s a changeling and none of your flesh and
blood .

The Winter's Tale

She being none of your flesh and
blood , your flesh and blood has not offended the
King , and so your flesh and blood is not to be
punished by him . Show those things you found
about her , those secret things , all but what she has
with her . This being done , let the law go whistle , I
warrant you .

The Winter's Tale

Indeed , brother-in-law was the farthest
off you could have been to him , and then your
blood had been the dearer by I know how much an
ounce .

The Winter's Tale

He has a son , who shall be flayed alive ; then
’nointed over with honey , set on the head of a
wasps’-nest ; then stand till he be three-quarters and
a dram dead , then recovered again with aqua vitae
or some other hot infusion ; then , raw as he is , and
in the hottest day prognostication proclaims , shall
he be set against a brick wall , the sun looking with a
southward eye upon him , where he is to behold him
with flies blown to death . But what talk we of these
traitorly rascals , whose miseries are to be smiled at ,
their offenses being so capital ? Tell me — for you
seem to be honest plain men — what you have to the
King . Being something gently considered , I’ll bring
you where he is aboard , tender your persons to his
presence , whisper him in your behalfs ; and if it be
in man besides the King to effect your suits , here is
man shall do it .

The Winter's Tale

I will trust you . Walk before toward the
seaside . Go on the right hand . I will but look upon
the hedge , and follow you .

The Winter's Tale

If you would not so ,
You pity not the state nor the remembrance
Of his most sovereign name , consider little
What dangers by his Highness’ fail of issue
May drop upon his kingdom and devour
Incertain lookers-on . What were more holy
Than to rejoice the former queen is well ?
What holier than , for royalty’s repair ,
For present comfort , and for future good ,
To bless the bed of majesty again
With a sweet fellow to ’t ?

The Winter's Tale

Good Paulina ,
Who hast the memory of Hermione ,
I know , in honor , O , that ever I
Had squared me to thy counsel ! Then even now
I might have looked upon my queen’s full eyes ,
Have taken treasure from her lips —

The Winter's Tale

Prithee , no more ; cease . Thou
know’st
He dies to me again when talked of . Sure ,
When I shall see this gentleman , thy speeches
Will bring me to consider that which may
Unfurnish me of reason . They are come .



Your mother was most true to wedlock , prince ,
For she did print your royal father off ,
Conceiving you . Were I but twenty-one ,
Your father’s image is so hit in you ,
His very air , that I should call you brother ,
As I did him , and speak of something wildly
By us performed before . Most dearly welcome ,
And your fair princess — goddess ! O , alas ,
I lost a couple that ’twixt heaven and Earth earth
Might thus have stood , begetting wonder , as
You , gracious couple , do . And then I lost —
All mine own folly — the society ,
Amity too , of your brave father , whom ,
Though bearing misery , I desire my life
Once more to look on him .

The Winter's Tale

By his command
Have I here touched Sicilia , and from him
Give you all greetings that a king , at friend ,
Can send his brother . And but infirmity ,
Which waits upon worn times , hath something
seized
His wished ability , he had himself
The lands and waters ’twixt your throne and his
Measured to look upon you , whom he loves —
He bade me say so — more than all the scepters
And those that bear them living .

The Winter's Tale

The blessèd gods
Purge all infection from our air whilst you
Do climate here ! You have a holy father ,
A graceful gentleman , against whose person ,
So sacred as it is , I have done sin ,
For which the heavens , taking angry note ,
Have left me issueless . And your father’s blest ,
As he from heaven merits it , with you ,
Worthy his goodness . What might I have been
Might I a son and daughter now have looked on ,
Such goodly things as you ?

The Winter's Tale

Dear , look up .
Though Fortune , visible an enemy ,
Should chase us with my father , power no jot
Hath she to change our loves . — Beseech you , sir ,
Remember since you owed no more to time
Than I do now . With thought of such affections ,
Step forth mine advocate . At your request ,
My father will grant precious things as trifles .

The Winter's Tale

Sir , my liege ,
Your eye hath too much youth in ’t . Not a month
’Fore your queen died , she was more worth such
gazes
Than what you look on now .

The Winter's Tale

I thought of her
Even in these looks I made . But your
petition
Is yet unanswered . I will to your father .
Your honor not o’erthrown by your desires ,
I am friend to them and you . Upon which errand
I now go toward him . Therefore follow me ,
And mark what way I make . Come , good my lord .

The Winter's Tale

I make a broken delivery of the
business , but the changes I perceived in the King
and Camillo were very notes of admiration . They
seemed almost , with staring on one another , to tear
the cases of their eyes . There was speech in their
dumbness , language in their very gesture . They
looked as they had heard of a world ransomed , or
one destroyed . A notable passion of wonder appeared
in them , but the wisest beholder that knew
no more but seeing could not say if th’ importance
were joy or sorrow ; but in the extremity of the one it
must needs be .



Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more . —
The news , Rogero ?

The Winter's Tale

One of the prettiest touches of all ,
and that which angled for mine eyes — caught the
water , though not the fish — was when at the relation
of the Queen’s death — with the manner how
she came to ’t bravely confessed and lamented by
the King — how attentiveness wounded his daughter ,
till , from one sign of dolor to another , she did ,
with an Alas , I would fain say bleed tears , for I am
sure my heart wept blood . Who was most marble
there changed color ; some swooned , all sorrowed .
If all the world could have seen ’t , the woe had been
universal .

The Winter's Tale

O Paulina ,
We honor you with trouble . But we came
To see the statue of our queen . Your gallery
Have we passed through , not without much content
In many singularities ; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon ,
The statue of her mother .

The Winter's Tale

As she lived peerless ,
So her dead likeness , I do well believe ,
Excels whatever yet you looked upon
Or hand of man hath done . Therefore I keep it
Lonely , apart . But here it is . Prepare
To see the life as lively mocked as ever
Still sleep mocked death . Behold , and say ’tis well .

I like your silence . It the more shows off
Your wonder . But yet speak . First you , my liege .
Comes it not something near ?

The Winter's Tale

Let be , let be .
Would I were dead but that methinks already —
What was he that did make it ? — See , my lord ,
Would you not deem it breathed ? And that those
veins
Did verily bear blood ?

The Winter's Tale

So long could I
Stand by , a looker-on .

The Winter's Tale

What you can make her do
I am content to look on ; what to speak ,
I am content to hear , for ’tis as easy
To make her speak as move .

The Winter's Tale

Music , awake her ! Strike !

’Tis time . Descend . Be stone no more . Approach .
Strike all that look upon with marvel . Come ,
I’ll fill your grave up . Stir , nay , come away .
Bequeath to death your numbness , for from him
Dear life redeems you . — You perceive she stirs .


Start not . Her actions shall be holy as
You hear my spell is lawful . Do not shun her
Until you see her die again , for then
You kill her double . Nay , present your hand .
When she was young , you wooed her ; now in age
Is she become the suitor ?

The Winter's Tale

You gods , look down ,
And from your sacred vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter’s head ! Tell me , mine own ,
Where hast thou been preserved ? Where lived ? How
found
Thy father’s court ? For thou shalt hear that I ,
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being , have preserved
Myself to see the issue .

The Winter's Tale

O peace , Paulina .
Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent ,
As I by thine a wife . This is a match ,
And made between ’s by vows . Thou hast found
mine —
But how is to be questioned , for I saw her ,
As I thought , dead , and have in vain said many
A prayer upon her grave . I’ll not seek far —
For him , I partly know his mind — to find thee
An honorable husband . — Come , Camillo ,
And take her by the hand , whose worth and honesty
Is richly noted and here justified
By us , a pair of kings . Let’s from this place .
What , look upon my brother ! Both
your pardons
That e’er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion . This your son-in-law
And son unto the King , whom heavens directing ,
Is troth-plight to your daughter . — Good Paulina ,
Lead us from hence , where we may leisurely
Each one demand and answer to his part
Performed in this wide gap of time since first
We were dissevered . Hastily lead away .

Timon of Athens


’Tis a good form .

Timon of Athens

And rich . Here is a water , look ye .

Timon of Athens

Look , more .

Timon of Athens


You see this confluence , this great flood of visitors .
I have in this rough work
shaped out a man
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment . My free drift
Halts not particularly but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax . No leveled malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold ,
But flies an eagle flight , bold and forth on ,
Leaving no tract behind .

Timon of Athens

Look who comes here . Will you be chid ?

Timon of Athens

Then thou liest . Look in thy last work ,
where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow .

Timon of Athens

I scorn thy meat . ’Twould choke me , for I
should ne’er flatter thee . O you gods ,
what a number of men eats Timon , and he sees ’em
not ! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in
one man’s blood ; and all the madness is , he cheers
them up too .
I wonder men dare trust themselves with men .
Methinks they should invite them without knives .
Good for their meat , and safer for their lives .
There’s much example for ’t . The fellow that sits
next him , now parts bread with him , pledges the
breath of him in a divided draft , is the readiest
man to kill him . ’T ’as been proved . If I were a huge
man , I should fear to drink at meals ,
Lest they should spy my wind-pipe’s dangerous
notes .
Great men should drink with harness on their
throats .

Timon of Athens

Flow this way ? A brave fellow .
He keeps his tides well . Those healths will make
thee and thy state look ill , Timon .
Here’s that which is too weak to be a sinner ,
Honest water , which ne’er left man i’ th’ mire .
This and my food are equals . There’s no odds .
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods .

Apemantus’ grace .

Immortal gods , I crave no pelf .
I pray for no man but myself .
Grant I may never prove so fond
To trust man on his oath or bond ,
Or a harlot for her weeping ,
Or a dog that seems a-sleeping ,
Or a keeper with my freedom ,
Or my friends if I should need ’em .
Amen . So fall to ’t .
Rich men sin , and I eat root .

Much good dich thy good heart , Apemantus !

Timon of Athens

O my friends , I have one word
To say to you . Look you , my good lord ,
I must entreat you , honor me so much
As to advance this jewel . Accept it and wear it ,
Kind my lord .

Timon of Athens

Look you , here comes my master’s page .

Timon of Athens


They answer in a joint and corporate voice
That now they are at fall , want treasure , cannot
Do what they would , are sorry . You are honorable ,
But yet they could have wished — they know not —
Something hath been amiss — a noble nature
May catch a wrench — would all were well — ’tis pity .
And so , intending other serious matters ,
After distasteful looks and these hard fractions ,
With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods
They froze me into silence .

Timon of Athens

You gods , reward them !
Prithee , man , look cheerly . These old fellows
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary .
Their blood is caked , ’tis cold , it seldom flows ;
’Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind ;
And nature , as it grows again toward earth ,
Is fashioned for the journey , dull and heavy .
Go to Ventidius . Prithee , be not sad .
Thou art true and honest — ingeniously I speak —
No blame belongs to thee . Ventidius lately
Buried his father , by whose death he’s stepped
Into a great estate . When he was poor ,
Imprisoned , and in scarcity of friends ,
I cleared him with five talents . Greet him from me .
Bid him suppose some good necessity
Touches his friend , which craves to be remembered
With those five talents . That had , give ’t these fellows
To whom ’tis instant due . Ne’er speak or think
That Timon’s fortunes ’mong his friends can sink .

Timon of Athens

I’ll look you out a good turn , Servilius .

True , as you said , Timon is shrunk indeed ,
And he that’s once denied will hardly speed .

Timon of Athens


Why , this is the world’s soul , and just of the same
piece
Is every flatterer’s sport . Who can call him his friend
That dips in the same dish ? For , in my knowing ,
Timon has been this lord’s father
And kept his credit with his purse ,
Supported his estate , nay , Timon’s money
Has paid his men their wages . He ne’er drinks
But Timon’s silver treads upon his lip .
And yet — O , see the monstrousness of man
When he looks out in an ungrateful shape ! —
He does deny him , in respect of his ,
What charitable men afford to beggars .

Timon of Athens

Tell out my blood .

Timon of Athens


My lord , you have my voice to ’t . The fault’s
Bloody . ’Tis necessary he should die .
Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy .

Timon of Athens


I am an humble suitor to your virtues ,
For pity is the virtue of the law ,
And none but tyrants use it cruelly .
It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy
Upon a friend of mine , who in hot blood
Hath stepped into the law , which is past depth
To those that without heed do plunge into ’t .
He is a man — setting his fate aside —
Of comely virtues .
Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice —
An honor in him which buys out his fault —
But with a noble fury and fair spirit ,
Seeing his reputation touched to death ,
He did oppose his foe ;
And with such sober and unnoted passion
He did behave his anger , ere ’twas spent ,
As if he had but proved an argument .

Timon of Athens


You undergo too strict a paradox ,
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair .
Your words have took such pains as if they labored
To bring manslaughter into form and set quarreling
Upon the head of valor — which indeed
Is valor misbegot , and came into the world
When sects and factions were newly born .
He’s truly valiant that can wisely suffer
The worst that man can breathe
And make his wrongs his outsides ,
To wear them like his raiment , carelessly ,
And ne’er prefer his injuries to his heart
To bring it into danger .
If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill ,
What folly ’tis to hazard life for ill !

Timon of Athens

You cannot make gross sins look clear .
To revenge is no valor , but to bear .

Timon of Athens


My lords , then , under favor , pardon me
If I speak like a captain .
Why do fond men expose themselves to battle
And not endure all threats ? Sleep upon ’t ,
And let the foes quietly cut their throats
Without repugnancy ? If there be
Such valor in the bearing , what make we
Abroad ? Why , then , women are more valiant
That stay at home , if bearing carry it ,
And the ass more captain than the lion , the felon
Loaden with irons wiser than the judge ,
If wisdom be in suffering . O my lords ,
As you are great , be pitifully good .
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood ?
To kill , I grant , is sin’s extremest gust ,
But in defense , by mercy , ’tis most just .
To be in anger is impiety ,
But who is man that is not angry ?
Weigh but the crime with this .

Timon of Athens


We are for law . He dies . Urge it no more ,
On height of our displeasure . Friend or brother ,
He forfeits his own blood that spills another .

Timon of Athens


Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live
Only in bone , that none may look on you ! —
I’m worse than mad . I have kept back their foes
While they have told their money and let out
Their coin upon large interest , I myself
Rich only in large hurts . All those for this ?
Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate
Pours into captains’ wounds ? Banishment .
It comes not ill . I hate not to be banished .
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury ,
That I may strike at Athens . I’ll cheer up
My discontented troops and lay for hearts .
’Tis honor with most lands to be at odds .
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods .

Timon of Athens


Let me look back upon thee . O thou wall
That girdles in those wolves , dive in the earth
And fence not Athens ! Matrons , turn incontinent !
Obedience fail in children ! Slaves and fools ,
Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench
And minister in their steads ! To general filths
Convert o’ th’ instant , green virginity !
Do ’t in your parents’ eyes ! Bankrupts , hold fast !
Rather than render back , out with your knives
And cut your trusters’ throats ! Bound servants , steal !
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are ,
And pill by law . Maid , to thy master’s bed !
Thy mistress is o’ th’ brothel . Son of sixteen ,
Pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire ;
With it beat out his brains ! Piety and fear ,
Religion to the gods , peace , justice , truth ,
Domestic awe , night rest , and neighborhood ,
Instruction , manners , mysteries , and trades ,
Degrees , observances , customs , and laws ,
Decline to your confounding contraries ,
And yet confusion live ! Plagues incident to men ,
Your potent and infectious fevers heap
On Athens , ripe for stroke ! Thou cold sciatica ,
Cripple our senators , that their limbs may halt
As lamely as their manners ! Lust and liberty ,
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth ,
That ’gainst the stream of virtue they may strive
And drown themselves in riot ! Itches , blains ,
Sow all th’ Athenian bosoms , and their crop
Be general leprosy ! Breath infect breath ,
That their society , as their friendship , may
Be merely poison ! Nothing I’ll bear from thee
But nakedness , thou detestable town !
Take thou that too , with multiplying bans !
Timon will to the woods , where he shall find
Th’ unkindest beast more kinder than mankind .
The gods confound — hear me , you good gods all ! —
Th’ Athenians both within and out that wall ,
And grant , as Timon grows , his hate may grow
To the whole race of mankind , high and low !
Amen .

Timon of Athens

Good fellows all ,
The latest of my wealth I’ll share amongst you .
Wherever we shall meet , for Timon’s sake
Let’s yet be fellows . Let’s shake our heads and say ,
As ’twere a knell unto our master’s fortunes ,
We have seen better days . Let each take some .
Nay , put out all your hands . Not one word more .
Thus part we rich in sorrow , parting poor .

O , the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us !
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt ,
Since riches point to misery and contempt ?
Who would be so mocked with glory , or to live
But in a dream of friendship ,
To have his pomp and all what state compounds
But only painted , like his varnished friends ?
Poor honest lord , brought low by his own heart ,
Undone by goodness ! Strange unusual blood
When man’s worst sin is he does too much good !
Who then dares to be half so kind again ?
For bounty , that makes gods , do still mar men .
My dearest lord , blest to be most accursed ,
Rich only to be wretched , thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions . Alas , kind lord !
He’s flung in rage from this ingrateful seat
Of monstrous friends ,
Nor has he with him to supply his life ,
Or that which can command it .
I’ll follow and inquire him out .
I’ll ever serve his mind with my best will .
Whilst I have gold , I’ll be his steward still .

Timon of Athens


I know thee too , and more than that I know thee
I not desire to know . Follow thy drum .
With man’s blood paint the ground gules , gules !
Religious canons , civil laws are cruel .
Then what should war be ? This fell whore of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword ,
For all her cherubin look .

Timon of Athens


This is in thee a nature but infected ,
A poor unmanly melancholy sprung
From change of future . Why this spade ? This place ?
This slavelike habit and these looks of care ?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk , drink wine , lie soft ,
Hug their diseased perfumes , and have forgot
That ever Timon was . Shame not these woods
By putting on the cunning of a carper .
Be thou a flatterer now , and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee . Hinge thy knee ,
And let his very breath whom thou ’lt observe
Blow off thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain ,
And call it excellent . Thou wast told thus .
Thou gav’st thine ears , like tapsters that bade
welcome ,
To knaves and all approachers . ’Tis most just
That thou turn rascal . Had’st thou wealth again ,
Rascals should have ’t . Do not assume my likeness .

Timon of Athens


Thee thither in a whirlwind . If thou wilt ,
Tell them there I have gold . Look , so I have .

Timon of Athens

Ay , though it look like thee .

Timon of Athens


Nor on the beasts themselves , the birds and fishes ;
You must eat men . Yet thanks I must you con
That you are thieves professed , that you work not
In holier shapes , for there is boundless theft
In limited professions . Rascal thieves ,
Here’s gold . Go , suck the
subtle blood o’ th’ grape
Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth ,
And so ’scape hanging . Trust not the physician ;
His antidotes are poison , and he slays
More than you rob . Take wealth and lives together .
Do , villainy , do , since you protest to do ’t ,
Like workmen . I’ll example you with thievery .
The sun’s a thief and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea . The moon’s an arrant thief ,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun .
The sea’s a thief , whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears . The earth’s a thief ,
That feeds and breeds by a composture stol’n
From gen’ral excrement . Each thing’s a thief .
The laws , your curb and whip , in their rough power
Has unchecked theft . Love not yourselves . Away !
Rob one another . There’s more gold . Cut throats .
All that you meet are thieves . To Athens go .
Break open shops . Nothing can you steal
But thieves do lose it . Steal less for this I give you ,
And gold confound you howsoe’er ! Amen .

Timon of Athens


Look thee , ’tis so . Thou singly honest man ,
Here , take . The gods out of my
misery
Has sent thee treasure . Go , live rich and happy ,
But thus conditioned : thou shalt build from men ;
Hate all , curse all , show charity to none ,
But let the famished flesh slide from the bone
Ere thou relieve the beggar ; give to dogs
What thou deniest to men ; let prisons swallow ’em ,
Debts wither ’em to nothing ; be men like blasted
woods ,
And may diseases lick up their false bloods !
And so farewell and thrive .

Timon of Athens


Look you , I love you well . I’ll give you gold .
Rid me these villains from your companies ,
Hang them or stab them , drown them in a draft ,
Confound them by some course , and come to me ,
I’ll give you gold enough .

Timon of Athens


It is vain that you would speak with Timon ,
For he is set so only to himself
That nothing but himself which looks like man
Is friendly with him .

Timon of Athens

Here is his cave . —
Peace and content be here ! Lord Timon ! Timon !
Look out , and speak to friends . Th’ Athenians
By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee .
Speak to them , noble Timon .

Timon of Athens


Come not to me again , but say to Athens ,
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion
Upon the beachèd verge of the salt flood ,
Who once a day with his embossèd froth
The turbulent surge shall cover . Thither come
And let my gravestone be your oracle .
Lips , let four words go by and language end .
What is amiss , plague and infection mend .
Graves only be men’s works , and death their gain .
Sun , hide thy beams . Timon hath done his reign .

Titus Andronicus


Stay , Roman brethren ! — Gracious conqueror ,
Victorious Titus , rue the tears I shed ,
A mother’s tears in passion for her son .
And if thy sons were ever dear to thee ,
O think my son to be as dear to me .
Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome
To beautify thy triumphs and return
Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke ,
But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets
For valiant doings in their country’s cause ?
O , if to fight for king and commonweal
Were piety in thine , it is in these !

Andronicus , stain not thy tomb with blood .
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ?
Draw near them then in being merciful .
Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge .
Thrice-noble Titus , spare my first-born son .

Titus Andronicus


Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome !
Alarbus goes to rest and we survive
To tremble under Titus’ threat’ning look .
Then , madam , stand resolved , but hope withal
The selfsame gods that armed the Queen of Troy
With opportunity of sharp revenge
Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent
May favor Tamora the Queen of Goths
( When Goths were Goths , and Tamora was queen )
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes .

Titus Andronicus


Not so , my lord ; the gods of Rome forfend
I should be author to dishonor you .
But on mine honor dare I undertake
For good Lord Titus’ innocence in all ,
Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs .
Then at my suit look graciously on him .
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose ,
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart .
My lord , be ruled by me ; be
won at last .
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents .
You are but newly planted in your throne .
Lest , then , the people , and patricians too ,
Upon a just survey take Titus’ part
And so supplant you for ingratitude ,
Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin .
Yield at entreats , and then let me alone .
I’ll find a day to massacre them all
And raze their faction and their family ,
The cruel father and his traitorous sons ,
To whom I sued for my dear son’s life ,
And make them know what ’tis to let a queen
Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain .
Come , come , sweet emperor . — Come ,
Andronicus . —
Take up this good old man , and cheer the heart
That dies in tempest of thy angry frown .

Titus Andronicus


I thank your Majesty and her , my lord .
These words , these looks , infuse new life in me .

Titus Andronicus


Nay , nay , sweet emperor , we must all be friends .
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace .
I will not be denied . Sweetheart , look back .

Titus Andronicus


Now climbeth Tamora Olympus’ top ,
Safe out of Fortune’s shot , and sits aloft ,
Secure of thunder’s crack or lightning flash ,
Advanced above pale Envy’s threat’ning reach .
As when the golden sun salutes the morn
And , having gilt the ocean with his beams ,
Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach
And overlooks the highest-peering hills ,
So Tamora .
Upon her wit doth earthly honor wait ,
And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown .
Then , Aaron , arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts
To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress ,
And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long
Hast prisoner held , fettered in amorous chains
And faster bound to Aaron’s charming eyes
Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus .
Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts !
I will be bright , and shine in pearl and gold
To wait upon this new-made emperess .
To wait , said I ? To wanton with this queen ,
This goddess , this Semiramis , this nymph ,
This siren that will charm Rome’s Saturnine
And see his shipwrack and his commonweal’s .
Holla ! What storm is this ?

Titus Andronicus

Away , I say !
Now by the gods that warlike Goths adore ,
This petty brabble will undo us all .
Why , lords , and think you not how dangerous
It is to jet upon a prince’s right ?
What , is Lavinia then become so loose
Or Bassianus so degenerate
That for her love such quarrels may be broached
Without controlment , justice , or revenge ?
Young lords , beware ! And should the Empress know
This discord’s ground , the music would not please .

Titus Andronicus


Then why should he despair that knows to court it
With words , fair looks , and liberality ?
What , hast not thou full often struck a doe
And borne her cleanly by the keeper’s nose ?

Titus Andronicus


My lovely Aaron , wherefore look’st thou sad ,
When everything doth make a gleeful boast ?
The birds chant melody on every bush ,
The snakes lies rollèd in the cheerful sun ,
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind
And make a checkered shadow on the ground .
Under their sweet shade , Aaron , let us sit ,
And whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds ,
Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns ,
As if a double hunt were heard at once ,
Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise .
And after conflict such as was supposed
The wand’ring prince and Dido once enjoyed
When with a happy storm they were surprised ,
And curtained with a counsel-keeping cave ,
We may , each wreathèd in the other’s arms ,
Our pastimes done , possess a golden slumber ,
Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds
Be unto us as is a nurse’s song
Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep .

Titus Andronicus


Madam , though Venus govern your desires ,
Saturn is dominator over mine .
What signifies my deadly standing eye ,
My silence , and my cloudy melancholy ,
My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls
Even as an adder when she doth unroll
To do some fatal execution ?
No , madam , these are no venereal signs .
Vengeance is in my heart , death in my hand ,
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head .
Hark , Tamora , the empress of my soul ,
Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee ,
This is the day of doom for Bassianus .
His Philomel must lose her tongue today ,
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity
And wash their hands in Bassianus’ blood .

Seest thou this letter ? Take it up , I pray thee ,
And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll .

Now , question me no more . We are espied .
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty ,
Which dreads not yet their lives’ destruction .

Titus Andronicus


How now , dear sovereign and our gracious mother ,
Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan ?

Titus Andronicus


Have I not reason , think you , to look pale ?
These two have ticed me hither to this place ,
A barren , detested vale you see it is ;
The trees , though summer , yet forlorn and lean ,
Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe .
Here never shines the sun , here nothing breeds ,
Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven .
And when they showed me this abhorrèd pit ,
They told me , here at dead time of the night
A thousand fiends , a thousand hissing snakes ,
Ten thousand swelling toads , as many urchins ,
Would make such fearful and confusèd cries
As any mortal body hearing it
Should straight fall mad , or else die suddenly .
No sooner had they told this hellish tale
But straight they told me they would bind me here
Unto the body of a dismal yew
And leave me to this miserable death .
And then they called me foul adulteress ,
Lascivious Goth , and all the bitterest terms
That ever ear did hear to such effect .
And had you not by wondrous fortune come ,
This vengeance on me had they executed .
Revenge it as you love your mother’s life ,
Or be you not henceforth called my children .

Titus Andronicus


What , art thou fallen ? What subtle hole is this ,
Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood
As fresh as morning dew distilled on flowers ?
A very fatal place it seems to me .
Speak , brother ! Hast thou hurt thee with the fall ?

Titus Andronicus


Why dost not comfort me and help me out
From this unhallowed and bloodstainèd hole ?

Titus Andronicus


To prove thou hast a true-divining heart ,
Aaron and thou look down into this den
And see a fearful sight of blood and death .

Titus Andronicus


Lord Bassianus lies berayed in blood ,
All on a heap , like to a slaughtered lamb ,
In this detested , dark , blood-drinking pit .

Titus Andronicus


Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring that lightens all this hole ,
Which like a taper in some monument
Doth shine upon the dead man’s earthy cheeks
And shows the ragged entrails of this pit .
So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus
When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood .
O , brother , help me with thy fainting hand —
If fear hath made thee faint as me it hath —
Out of this fell devouring receptacle ,
As hateful as Cocytus’ misty mouth .

Titus Andronicus


Thy hand once more . I will not loose again
Till thou art here aloft or I below .
Thou canst not come to me . I come to thee .

Titus Andronicus


An if we miss to meet him handsomely ,
Sweet huntsman — Bassianus ’tis we mean —
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him ;
Thou know’st our meaning . Look for thy reward
Among the nettles at the elder tree
Which overshades the mouth of that same pit
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus .
Do this , and purchase us thy lasting friends .
O Tamora , was ever heard the like ?
This is the pit , and this the elder tree . —
Look , sirs , if you can find the huntsman out
That should have murdered Bassianus here .

Titus Andronicus


Two of thy whelps , fell curs of bloody kind ,
Have here bereft my brother of his life . —
Sirs , drag them from the pit unto the prison .
There let them bide until we have devised
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them .

Titus Andronicus


Who is this ? My niece , that flies away so fast ? —
Cousin , a word . Where is your husband ?
If I do dream , would all my wealth would wake me .
If I do wake , some planet strike me down
That I may slumber an eternal sleep .
Speak , gentle niece . What stern ungentle hands
Hath lopped and hewed and made thy body bare
Of her two branches , those sweet ornaments
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in ,
And might not gain so great a happiness
As half thy love ? Why dost not speak to me ?
Alas , a crimson river of warm blood ,
Like to a bubbling fountain stirred with wind ,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosèd lips ,
Coming and going with thy honey breath .
But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee ,
And lest thou shouldst detect him cut thy tongue .
Ah , now thou turn’st away thy face for shame ,
And notwithstanding all this loss of blood ,
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts ,
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan’s face ,
Blushing to be encountered with a cloud .
Shall I speak for thee , shall I say ’tis so ?
O , that I knew thy heart , and knew the beast ,
That I might rail at him to ease my mind .
Sorrow concealèd , like an oven stopped ,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is .
Fair Philomela , why she but lost her tongue ,
And in a tedious sampler sewed her mind ;
But , lovely niece , that mean is cut from thee .
A craftier Tereus , cousin , hast thou met ,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off
That could have better sewed than Philomel .
O , had the monster seen those lily hands
Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute
And make the silken strings delight to kiss them ,
He would not then have touched them for his life .
Or had he heard the heavenly harmony
Which that sweet tongue hath made ,
He would have dropped his knife and fell asleep ,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet’s feet .
Come , let us go and make thy father blind ,
For such a sight will blind a father’s eye .
One hour’s storm will drown the fragrant meads ;
What will whole months of tears thy father’s eyes ?
Do not draw back , for we will mourn with thee .
O , could our mourning ease thy misery !

Titus Andronicus


Hear me , grave fathers ; noble tribunes , stay .
For pity of mine age , whose youth was spent
In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept ;
For all my blood in Rome’s great quarrel shed ,
For all the frosty nights that I have watched ,
And for these bitter tears which now you see ,
Filling the agèd wrinkles in my cheeks ,
Be pitiful to my condemnèd sons ,
Whose souls is not corrupted as ’tis thought .
For two-and-twenty sons I never wept
Because they died in honor’s lofty bed .


For these , tribunes , in the dust I write
My heart’s deep languor and my soul’s sad tears .
Let my tears stanch the earth’s dry appetite .
My sons’ sweet blood will make it shame and blush .
O Earth earth , I will befriend thee more with rain
That shall distil from these two ancient ruins
Than youthful April shall with all his showers .
In summer’s drought I’ll drop upon thee still ;
In winter with warm tears I’ll melt the snow
And keep eternal springtime on thy face ,
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons’ blood .



O reverend tribunes , O gentle agèd men ,
Unbind my sons , reverse the doom of death ,
And let me say , that never wept before ,
My tears are now prevailing orators .

Titus Andronicus


Faint-hearted boy , arise and look upon her . —
Speak , Lavinia . What accursèd hand
Hath made thee handless in thy father’s sight ?
What fool hath added water to the sea
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy ?
My grief was at the height before thou cam’st ,
And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds . —
Give me a sword . I’ll chop off my hands too ,
For they have fought for Rome and all in vain ;
And they have nursed this woe in feeding life ;
In bootless prayer have they been held up ,
And they have served me to effectless use .
Now all the service I require of them
Is that the one will help to cut the other . —
’Tis well , Lavinia , that thou hast no hands ,
For hands to do Rome service is but vain .

Titus Andronicus


It was my dear , and he that wounded her
Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead .
For now I stand as one upon a rock ,
Environed with a wilderness of sea ,
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave ,
Expecting ever when some envious surge
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him .
This way to death my wretched sons are gone ;
Here stands my other son a banished man ,
And here my brother , weeping at my woes .
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn
Is dear Lavinia , dearer than my soul .
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight
It would have madded me . What shall I do ,
Now I behold thy lively body so ?
Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears ,
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyred thee .
Thy husband he is dead , and for his death
Thy brothers are condemned , and dead by this . —
Look , Marcus ! — Ah , son Lucius , look on her !
When I did name her brothers , then fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks as doth the honeydew
Upon a gathered lily almost withered .

Titus Andronicus


If they did kill thy husband , then be joyful ,
Because the law hath ta’en revenge on them . —
No , no , they would not do so foul a deed .
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes . —
Gentle Lavinia , let me kiss thy lips ,
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease .
Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius
And thou and I sit round about some fountain ,
Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks ,
How they are stained like meadows yet not dry
With miry slime left on them by a flood ?
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness
And made a brine pit with our bitter tears ?
Or shall we cut away our hands like thine ?
Or shall we bite our tongues and in dumb shows
Pass the remainder of our hateful days ?
What shall we do ? Let us that have our tongues
Plot some device of further misery
To make us wondered at in time to come .

Titus Andronicus


Stay , father , for that noble hand of thine ,
That hath thrown down so many enemies ,
Shall not be sent . My hand will serve the turn .
My youth can better spare my blood than you ,
And therefore mine shall save my brothers’ lives .

Titus Andronicus


Which of your hands hath not defended Rome
And reared aloft the bloody battleax ,
Writing destruction on the enemy’s castle ?
O , none of both but are of high desert .
My hand hath been but idle ; let it serve
To ransom my two nephews from their death .
Then have I kept it to a worthy end .

Titus Andronicus


I go , Andronicus , and for thy hand
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee .
Their heads , I mean . O , how this villainy
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it !
Let fools do good and fair men call for grace ;
Aaron will have his soul black like his face .

Titus Andronicus


Now farewell , flatt’ry ; die , Andronicus .
Thou dost not slumber . See thy two sons’ heads ,
Thy warlike hand , thy mangled daughter here ,
Thy other banished son with this dear sight
Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother , I ,
Even like a stony image cold and numb .
Ah , now no more will I control thy griefs .
Rent off thy silver hair , thy other hand ,
Gnawing with thy teeth , and be this dismal sight
The closing up of our most wretched eyes .
Now is a time to storm . Why art thou still ?

Titus Andronicus


So , so . Now sit , and look you eat no more
Than will preserve just so much strength in us
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours .
Marcus , unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot .
Thy niece and I , poor creatures , want our hands
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
With folded arms . This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ,
Who , when my heart , all mad with misery ,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh ,
Then thus I thump it down . —
Thou map of woe , that thus dost talk in signs ,
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating ,
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still .
Wound it with sighing , girl , kill it with groans ;
Or get some little knife between thy teeth
And just against thy heart make thou a hole ,
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
May run into that sink and , soaking in ,
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears .

Titus Andronicus


Lavinia , wert thou thus surprised , sweet girl ,
Ravished and wronged as Philomela was ,
Forced in the ruthless , vast , and gloomy woods ?
See , see ! Ay , such a place there is where we did hunt —
O , had we never , never hunted there ! —
Patterned by that the poet here describes ,
By nature made for murders and for rapes .

Titus Andronicus


Sit down , sweet niece . — Brother , sit down by me .

Apollo , Pallas , Jove , or Mercury
Inspire me , that I may this treason find . —
My lord , look here . — Look here , Lavinia .

This sandy plot is plain ; guide , if thou canst ,
This after me . I have writ my name
Without the help of any hand at all .
Cursed be that heart that forced us to this shift !
Write thou , good niece , and here display at last
What God will have discovered for revenge .
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain ,
That we may know the traitors and the truth .

O , do you read , my lord , what she hath writ ?

Titus Andronicus


What , what ! The lustful sons of Tamora
Performers of this heinous , bloody deed ?

Titus Andronicus


O , calm thee , gentle lord , although I know
There is enough written upon this earth
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims .
My lord , kneel down with me . — Lavinia , kneel . —
And kneel , sweet boy , the Roman Hector’s hope ,

And swear with me — as , with the woeful fere
And father of that chaste dishonored dame ,
Lord Junius Brutus swore for Lucrece’ rape —
That we will prosecute by good advice
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths ,
And see their blood or die with this reproach .

Titus Andronicus


No , boy , not so . I’ll teach thee another course . —
Lavinia , come . — Marcus , look to my house .
Lucius and I’ll go brave it at the court ;
Ay , marry , will we , sir , and we’ll be waited on .

Titus Andronicus


That you are both deciphered , that’s the news ,
For villains marked with rape . — May it please you ,
My grandsire , well advised , hath sent by me
The goodliest weapons of his armory
To gratify your honorable youth ,
The hope of Rome ; for so he bid me say ,
And so I do , and with his gifts present
Your Lordships , that , whenever you have need ,
You may be armèd and appointed well ,
And so I leave you both — like bloody villains .

Titus Andronicus


What , must it , nurse ? Then let no man but I
Do execution on my flesh and blood .

Titus Andronicus


Sooner this sword shall plow thy bowels up !
Stay , murderous villains , will you kill your brother ?
Now , by the burning tapers of the sky
That shone so brightly when this boy was got ,
He dies upon my scimitar’s sharp point
That touches this my firstborn son and heir .
I tell you , younglings , not Enceladus
With all his threat’ning band of Typhon’s brood ,
Nor great Alcides , nor the god of war
Shall seize this prey out of his father’s hands .
What , what , you sanguine , shallow-hearted boys ,
You white-limed walls , you alehouse painted signs !
Coal-black black is better than another hue
In that it scorns to bear another hue ;
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn the swan’s black legs to white ,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood .
Tell the Empress from me , I am of age
To keep mine own , excuse it how she can .

Titus Andronicus


Why , there’s the privilege your beauty bears .
Fie , treacherous hue , that will betray with blushing
The close enacts and counsels of thy heart .
Here’s a young lad framed of another leer .
Look how the black slave smiles upon the father ,
As who should say Old lad , I am thine own .
He is your brother , lords , sensibly fed
Of that self blood that first gave life to you ,
And from that womb where you imprisoned were
He is enfranchisèd and come to light .
Nay , he is your brother by the surer side ,
Although my seal be stampèd in his face .

Titus Andronicus


Come , Marcus , come . Kinsmen , this is the way . —
Sir boy , let me see your archery .
Look you draw home enough and ’tis there straight . —
Terras Astraea reliquit .
Be you remembered , Marcus , she’s gone , she’s fled . —
Sirs , take you to your tools . You , cousins , shall
Go sound the ocean and cast your nets ;
Happily you may catch her in the sea ;
Yet there’s as little justice as at land .
No ; Publius and Sempronius , you must do it .
’Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade ,
And pierce the inmost center of the Earth earth .
Then , when you come to Pluto’s region ,
I pray you , deliver him this petition .
Tell him it is for justice and for aid ,
And that it comes from old Andronicus ,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome .
Ah , Rome ! Well , well , I made thee miserable
What time I threw the people’s suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize o’er me .
Go , get you gone , and pray be careful all ,
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearched .
This wicked emperor may have shipped her hence ,
And , kinsmen , then we may go pipe for justice .

Titus Andronicus


He doth me wrong to feed me with delays .
I’ll dive into the burning lake below
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels .
Marcus , we are but shrubs , no cedars we ,
No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops’ size ,
But metal , Marcus , steel to the very back ,
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can
bear ;
And sith there’s no justice in Earth earth nor hell ,
We will solicit heaven and move the gods
To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs .
Come , to this gear . You are a good archer , Marcus .

Ad Jovem , that’s for you ; — here , Ad Apollinem ; —
Ad Martem , that’s for myself ; —
Here , boy , to Pallas ; — here , to Mercury ; —
To Saturn , Caius — not to Saturnine !
You were as good to shoot against the wind .
To it , boy ! — Marcus , loose when I bid .
Of my word , I have written to effect ;
There’s not a god left unsolicited .

Titus Andronicus

Then here is a supplication for you , and when
you come to him , at the first approach you must
kneel , then kiss his foot , then deliver up your pigeons ,
and then look for your reward . I’ll be at
hand , sir . See you do it bravely .

Titus Andronicus


My gracious lord , my lovely Saturnine ,
Lord of my life , commander of my thoughts ,
Calm thee , and bear the faults of Titus’ age ,
Th’ effects of sorrow for his valiant sons ,
Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarred his
heart ,
And rather comfort his distressèd plight
Than prosecute the meanest or the best
For these contempts . Why , thus it shall
become
High-witted Tamora to gloze with all .
But , Titus , I have touched thee to the quick .
Thy lifeblood out , if Aaron now be wise ,
Then is all safe , the anchor in the port .


How now , good fellow , wouldst thou speak with us ?

Titus Andronicus


Renownèd Lucius , from our troops I strayed
To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ,
And as I earnestly did fix mine eye
Upon the wasted building , suddenly
I heard a child cry underneath a wall .
I made unto the noise , when soon I heard
The crying babe controlled with this discourse :
Peace , tawny slave , half me and half thy dame !
Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art ,
Had nature lent thee but thy mother’s look ,
Villain , thou mightst have been an emperor .
But where the bull and cow are both milk white ,
They never do beget a coal-black calf .
Peace , villain , peace ! — even thus he rates the babe —
For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth
Who , when he knows thou art the Empress’ babe ,
Will hold thee dearly for thy mother’s sake .
With this , my weapon drawn , I rushed upon him ,
Surprised him suddenly , and brought him hither
To use as you think needful of the man .

Titus Andronicus


Touch not the boy . He is of royal blood .

Titus Andronicus


Indeed , I was their tutor to instruct them .
That codding spirit had they from their mother ,
As sure a card as ever won the set ;
That bloody mind I think they learned of me ,
As true a dog as ever fought at head .
Well , let my deeds be witness of my worth .
I trained thy brethren to that guileful hole
Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay .
I wrote the letter that thy father found ,
And hid the gold within that letter mentioned ,
Confederate with the Queen and her two sons .
And what not done that thou hast cause to rue ,
Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it ?
I played the cheater for thy father’s hand ,
And , when I had it , drew myself apart
And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter .
I pried me through the crevice of a wall
When , for his hand , he had his two sons’ heads ,
Beheld his tears , and laughed so heartily
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his .
And when I told the Empress of this sport ,
She sounded almost at my pleasing tale ,
And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses .

Titus Andronicus


Who doth molest my contemplation ?
Is it your trick to make me ope the door ,
That so my sad decrees may fly away
And all my study be to no effect ?
You are deceived , for what I mean to do ,
See here , in bloody lines I have set down ,
And what is written shall be executed .

Titus Andronicus


Know , thou sad man , I am not Tamora .
She is thy enemy , and I thy friend .
I am Revenge , sent from th’ infernal kingdom
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind
By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes .
Come down and welcome me to this world’s light .
Confer with me of murder and of death .
There’s not a hollow cave or lurking-place ,
No vast obscurity or misty vale
Where bloody murder or detested rape
Can couch for fear but I will find them out ,
And in their ears tell them my dreadful name ,
Revenge , which makes the foul offender quake .

Titus Andronicus


Look round about the wicked streets of Rome ,
And when thou findst a man that’s like thyself ,
Good Murder , stab him ; he’s a murderer .
Go thou with him , and when it is thy
hap
To find another that is like to thee ,
Good Rapine , stab him ; he is a ravisher .
Go thou with them ; and in the
Emperor’s court
There is a queen attended by a Moor .
Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion ,
For up and down she doth resemble thee .
I pray thee , do on them some violent death .
They have been violent to me and mine .

Titus Andronicus


And therefore do we what we are commanded . —
Stop close their mouths ; let them not speak a word .
Is he sure bound ? Look that you bind them fast .

Titus Andronicus


Come , come , Lavinia . Look , thy foes are bound . —
Sirs , stop their mouths . Let them not speak to me ,
But let them hear what fearful words I utter . —
O villains , Chiron and Demetrius !
Here stands the spring whom you have stained with
mud ,
This goodly summer with your winter mixed .
You killed her husband , and for that vile fault
Two of her brothers were condemned to death ,
My hand cut off and made a merry jest ,
Both her sweet hands , her tongue , and that more dear
Than hands or tongue , her spotless chastity ,
Inhuman traitors , you constrained and forced .
What would you say if I should let you speak ?
Villains , for shame you could not beg for grace .
Hark , wretches , how I mean to martyr you .
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats ,
Whiles that Lavinia ’tween her stumps doth hold
The basin that receives your guilty blood .
You know your mother means to feast with me ,
And calls herself Revenge , and thinks me mad .
Hark , villains , I will grind your bones to dust ,
And with your blood and it I’ll make a paste ,
And of the paste a coffin I will rear ,
And make two pasties of your shameful heads ,
And bid that strumpet , your unhallowed dam ,
Like to the earth swallow her own increase .
This is the feast that I have bid her to ,
And this the banquet she shall surfeit on ;
For worse than Philomel you used my daughter ,
And worse than Procne I will be revenged .
And now prepare your throats . — Lavinia , come ,
Receive the blood .
And when that they are dead ,
Let me go grind their bones to powder small ,
And with this hateful liquor temper it ,
And in that paste let their vile heads be baked .
Come , come , be everyone officious
To make this banquet , which I wish may prove
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs’ feast .
So . Now bring them in , for I’ll play the cook
And see them ready against their mother comes .

Titus Andronicus


You sad-faced men , people and sons of Rome ,
By uproars severed as a flight of fowl
Scattered by winds and high tempestuous gusts ,
O , let me teach you how to knit again
This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf ,
These broken limbs again into one body ,
Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself ,
And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to ,
Like a forlorn and desperate castaway ,
Do shameful execution on herself .
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age ,
Grave witnesses of true experience ,
Cannot induce you to attend my words ,

Speak , Rome’s dear friend , as erst our ancestor ,
When with his solemn tongue he did discourse
To lovesick Dido’s sad-attending ear
The story of that baleful burning night
When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam’s Troy .
Tell us what Sinon hath bewitched our ears ,
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in
That gives our Troy , our Rome , the civil wound . —
My heart is not compact of flint nor steel ,
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief ,
But floods of tears will drown my oratory
And break my utterance even in the time
When it should move you to attend me most
And force you to commiseration .
Here’s Rome’s young captain . Let him tell the tale ,
While I stand by and weep to hear him speak .

Titus Andronicus


Then , gracious auditory , be it known to you
That Chiron and the damned Demetrius
Were they that murderèd our emperor’s brother ,
And they it were that ravishèd our sister .
For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded ,
Our father’s tears despised , and basely cozened
Of that true hand that fought Rome’s quarrel out
And sent her enemies unto the grave ;
Lastly , myself unkindly banishèd ,
The gates shut on me , and turned weeping out
To beg relief among Rome’s enemies ,
Who drowned their enmity in my true tears
And oped their arms to embrace me as a friend .
I am the turned-forth , be it known to you ,
That have preserved her welfare in my blood
And from her bosom took the enemy’s point ,
Sheathing the steel in my advent’rous body .
Alas , you know I am no vaunter , I ;
My scars can witness , dumb although they are ,
That my report is just and full of truth .
But soft , methinks I do digress too much ,
Citing my worthless praise . O , pardon me ,
For when no friends are by , men praise themselves .

Titus Andronicus


Thanks , gentle Romans . May I govern so
To heal Rome’s harms and wipe away her woe !
But , gentle people , give me aim awhile ,
For nature puts me to a heavy task .
Stand all aloof , but , uncle , draw you near
To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk .

O , take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips ,
These sorrowful drops upon thy bloodstained face ,
The last true duties of thy noble son .

Troilus and Cressida


In Troy there lies the scene . From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous , their high blood chafed ,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war . Sixty and nine , that wore
Their crownets regal , from th’ Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia , and their vow is made
To ransack Troy , within whose strong immures
The ravished Helen , Menelaus’ queen ,
With wanton Paris sleeps ; and that’s the quarrel .
To Tenedos they come ,
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage . Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruisèd Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions . Priam’s six-gated city —
Dardan and Timbria , Helias , Chetas , Troien ,
And Antenorides — with massy staples
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts ,
Spar up the sons of Troy .
Now expectation , tickling skittish spirits
On one and other side , Trojan and Greek ,
Sets all on hazard . And hither am I come ,
A prologue armed , but not in confidence
Of author’s pen or actor’s voice , but suited
In like conditions as our argument ,
To tell you , fair beholders , that our play
Leaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils ,
Beginning in the middle , starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play .
Like , or find fault ; do as your pleasures are .
Now , good or bad , ’tis but the chance of war .

Troilus and Cressida

Well , she looked yesternight fairer than ever
I saw her look , or any woman else .

Troilus and Cressida


Peace , you ungracious clamors ! Peace , rude sounds !
Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair
When with your blood you daily paint her thus .
I cannot fight upon this argument ;
It is too starved a subject for my sword .
But Pandarus — O gods , how do you plague me !
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar ,
And he’s as tetchy to be wooed to woo
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit .
Tell me , Apollo , for thy Daphnes love ,
What Cressid is , what Pandar , and what we .
Her bed is India ; there she lies , a pearl .
Between our Ilium and where she resides ,
Let it be called the wild and wand’ring flood ,
Ourself the merchant , and this sailing Pandar
Our doubtful hope , our convoy , and our bark .

Troilus and Cressida


The noise goes , this : there is among the Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood , nephew to Hector .
They call him Ajax .

Troilus and Cressida

That’s Hector , that , that , look you , that .
There’s a fellow ! — Go thy way , Hector ! — There’s a
brave man , niece . O brave Hector ! Look how he
looks . There’s a countenance ! Is ’t not a brave man ?

Troilus and Cressida

Is he not ? It does a man’s heart good . Look
you what hacks are on his helmet . Look you yonder ,
do you see ? Look you there . There’s no jesting ;
there’s laying on , take ’t off who will , as they say .
There be hacks .

Troilus and Cressida

Swords , anything , he cares not . An the devil
come to him , it’s all one . By God’s lid , it does one’s
heart good .



Yonder comes Paris , yonder comes Paris ! Look you
yonder , niece . Is ’t not a gallant man too ? Is ’t not ?
Why , this is brave now . Who said he came hurt
home today ? He’s not hurt . Why , this will do
Helen’s heart good now , ha ? Would I could see
Troilus now ! You shall see Troilus anon .

Troilus and Cressida

Mark him . Note him . O brave Troilus ! Look
well upon him , niece . Look you how his sword is
bloodied and his helm more hacked than Hector’s ,
and how he looks , and how he goes . O admirable
youth ! He never saw three and twenty . — Go thy
way , Troilus ; go thy way ! — Had I a sister were a
Grace , or a daughter a goddess , he should take his
choice . O admirable man ! Paris ? Paris is dirt to
him ; and I warrant Helen , to change , would give
an eye to boot .

Troilus and Cressida

Asses , fools , dolts , chaff and bran , chaff and
bran , porridge after meat . I could live and die in
the eyes of Troilus . Ne’er look , ne’er look ; the
eagles are gone . Crows and daws , crows and daws !
I had rather be such a man as Troilus than
Agamemnon and all Greece .

Troilus and Cressida


Troy , yet upon his basis , had been down ,
And the great Hector’s sword had lacked a master
But for these instances :
The specialty of rule hath been neglected ,
And look how many Grecian tents do stand
Hollow upon this plain , so many hollow factions .
When that the general is not like the hive
To whom the foragers shall all repair ,
What honey is expected ? Degree being vizarded ,
Th’ unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask .
The heavens themselves , the planets , and this center
Observe degree , priority , and place ,
Insisture , course , proportion , season , form ,
Office , and custom , in all line of order .
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol
In noble eminence enthroned and sphered
Amidst the other , whose med’cinable eye
Corrects the influence of evil planets ,
And posts , like the commandment of a king ,
Sans check , to good and bad . But when the planets
In evil mixture to disorder wander ,
What plagues and what portents , what mutiny ,
What raging of the sea , shaking of Earth earth ,
Commotion in the winds , frights , changes , horrors
Divert and crack , rend and deracinate
The unity and married calm of states
Quite from their fixture ! O , when degree is shaked ,
Which is the ladder of all high designs ,
The enterprise is sick . How could communities ,
Degrees in schools and brotherhoods in cities ,
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores ,
The primogeneity and due of birth ,
Prerogative of age , crowns , scepters , laurels ,
But by degree stand in authentic place ?
Take but degree away , untune that string ,
And hark what discord follows . Each thing meets
In mere oppugnancy . The bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores
And make a sop of all this solid globe ;
Strength should be lord of imbecility ,
And the rude son should strike his father dead ;
Force should be right , or , rather , right and wrong ,
Between whose endless jar justice resides ,
Should lose their names , and so should justice too .
Then everything includes itself in power ,
Power into will , will into appetite ,
And appetite , an universal wolf ,
So doubly seconded with will and power ,
Must make perforce an universal prey
And last eat up himself . Great Agamemnon ,
This chaos , when degree is suffocate ,
Follows the choking .
And this neglection of degree it is
That by a pace goes backward , with a purpose
It hath to climb . The General’s disdained
By him one step below , he by the next ,
That next by him beneath ; so every step ,
Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his superior , grows to an envious fever
Of pale and bloodless emulation .
And ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot ,
Not her own sinews . To end a tale of length ,
Troy in our weakness stands , not in her strength .

Troilus and Cressida

What trumpet ? Look , Menelaus .

Troilus and Cressida


Fair leave and large security . How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals ?

Troilus and Cressida


Tell him of Nestor , one that was a man
When Hector’s grandsire sucked . He is old now ,
But if there be not in our Grecian host
A noble man that hath one spark of fire
To answer for his love , tell him from me
I’ll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver
And in my vambrace put my withered brawns
And , meeting him , will tell him that my lady
Was fairer than his grandam and as chaste
As may be in the world . His youth in flood ,
I’ll prove this troth with my three drops of blood .

Troilus and Cressida

Nay , look upon him .

Troilus and Cressida

But yet you look not well upon him , for
whosomever you take him to be , he is Ajax .

Troilus and Cressida

I would have peace and quietness , but the
fool will not — he there , that he . Look you there .

Troilus and Cressida


Now , youthful Troilus , do not these high strains
Of divination in our sister work
Some touches of remorse ? Or is your blood
So madly hot that no discourse of reason
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause
Can qualify the same ?

Troilus and Cressida


Paris and Troilus , you have both said well ,
And on the cause and question now in hand
Have glozed — but superficially , not much
Unlike young men , whom Aristotle thought
Unfit to hear moral philosophy .
The reasons you allege do more conduce
To the hot passion of distempered blood
Than to make up a free determination
’Twixt right and wrong , for pleasure and revenge
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decision . Nature craves
All dues be rendered to their owners . Now ,
What nearer debt in all humanity
Than wife is to the husband ? If this law
Of nature be corrupted through affection ,
And that great minds , of partial indulgence
To their benumbèd wills , resist the same ,
There is a law in each well-ordered nation
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory .
If Helen , then , be wife to Sparta’s king ,
As it is known she is , these moral laws
Of nature and of nations speak aloud
To have her back returned . Thus to persist
In doing wrong extenuates not wrong ,
But makes it much more heavy . Hector’s opinion
Is this in way of truth ; yet , ne’ertheless ,
My sprightly brethren , I propend to you
In resolution to keep Helen still ,
For ’tis a cause that hath no mean dependence
Upon our joint and several dignities .

Troilus and Cressida


Why , there you touched the life of our design !
Were it not glory that we more affected
Than the performance of our heaving spleens ,
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defense . But , worthy Hector ,
She is a theme of honor and renown ,
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds ,
Whose present courage may beat down our foes ,
And fame in time to come canonize us ;
For I presume brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promised glory
As smiles upon the forehead of this action
For the wide world’s revenue .

Troilus and Cressida

If I could ’a remembered a gilt counterfeit ,
thou couldst not have slipped out of my contemplation .
But it is no matter . Thyself upon thyself ! The
common curse of mankind , folly and ignorance ,
be thine in great revenue ! Heaven bless thee from
a tutor , and discipline come not near thee ! Let thy
blood be thy direction till thy death ; then if she
that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse , I’ll be
sworn and sworn upon ’t she never shrouded any
but lazars . Amen .



Where’s Achilles ?

Troilus and Cressida

Make that demand of the creator . It suffices
me thou art .



Look you , who comes here ?

Troilus and Cressida


Things small as nothing , for request’s sake only ,
He makes important . Possessed he is with greatness
And speaks not to himself but with a pride
That quarrels at self-breath . Imagined worth
Holds in his blood such swoll’n and hot discourse
That ’twixt his mental and his active parts
Kingdomed Achilles in commotion rages
And batters down himself . What should I say ?
He is so plaguy proud that the death-tokens of it
Cry No recovery .

Troilus and Cressida

I’ll let his humorous blood .

Troilus and Cressida

That’s to ’t indeed , sir . Marry , sir , at the request of
Paris my lord , who is there in person ; with him the
mortal Venus , the heart blood of beauty , love’s visible
soul .

Troilus and Cressida

He eats nothing but doves , love , and that breeds
hot blood , and hot blood begets hot thoughts , and
hot thoughts beget hot deeds , and hot deeds is love .

Troilus and Cressida

Is this the generation of love ? Hot blood ,
hot thoughts , and hot deeds ? Why , they are vipers .
Is love a generation of vipers ? Sweet lord , who’s
afield today ?

Troilus and Cressida


O , that I thought it could be in a woman —
As , if it can , I will presume in you —
To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love ,
To keep her constancy in plight and youth ,
Outliving beauty’s outward , with a mind
That doth renew swifter than blood decays !
Or that persuasion could but thus convince me
That my integrity and truth to you
Might be affronted with the match and weight
Of such a winnowed purity in love ;
How were I then uplifted ! But , alas ,
I am as true as truth’s simplicity
And simpler than the infancy of truth .

Troilus and Cressida


You have a Trojan prisoner called Antenor
Yesterday took . Troy holds him very dear .
Oft have you — often have you thanks therefor —
Desired my Cressid in right great exchange ,
Whom Troy hath still denied ; but this Antenor ,
I know , is such a wrest in their affairs
That their negotiations all must slack ,
Wanting his manage ; and they will almost
Give us a prince of blood , a son of Priam ,
In change of him . Let him be sent , great princes ,
And he shall buy my daughter ; and her presence
Shall quite strike off all service I have done
In most accepted pain .

Troilus and Cressida


Achilles stands i’ th’ entrance of his tent .
Please it our General pass strangely by him
As if he were forgot , and , princes all ,
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him .
I will come last . ’Tis like he’ll question me
Why such unplausive eyes are bent , why turned on
him .
If so , I have derision medicinable
To use between your strangeness and his pride ,
Which his own will shall have desire to drink .
It may do good ; pride hath no other glass
To show itself but pride , for supple knees
Feed arrogance and are the proud man’s fees .

Troilus and Cressida


We’ll execute your purpose and put on
A form of strangeness as we pass along ;
So do each lord , and either greet him not
Or else disdainfully , which shall shake him more
Than if not looked on . I will lead the way .

Troilus and Cressida

What , am I poor of late ?
’Tis certain , greatness , once fall’n out with Fortune ,
Must fall out with men too . What the declined is
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others
As feel in his own fall , for men , like butterflies ,
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer ,
And not a man , for being simply man ,
Hath any honor , but honor for those honors
That are without him — as place , riches , and favor ,
Prizes of accident as oft as merit ,
Which , when they fall , as being slippery slanders ,
The love that leaned on them , as slippery too ,
Doth one pluck down another and together
Die in the fall . But ’tis not so with me .
Fortune and I are friends . I do enjoy ,
At ample point , all that I did possess ,
Save these men’s looks , who do , methinks , find out
Something not worth in me such rich beholding
As they have often given . Here is Ulysses .
I’ll interrupt his reading . — How now , Ulysses ?

Troilus and Cressida


I do believe it , for they passed by me
As misers do by beggars , neither gave to me
Good word nor look . What , are my deeds forgot ?

Troilus and Cressida


To this effect , Achilles , have I moved you .
A woman impudent and mannish grown
Is not more loathed than an effeminate man
In time of action . I stand condemned for this .
They think my little stomach to the war ,
And your great love to me , restrains you thus .
Sweet , rouse yourself , and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold
And , like a dewdrop from the lion’s mane ,
Be shook to air .

Troilus and Cressida


The one and other Diomed embraces .
Our bloods are now in calm , and , so long , health ;
But when contention and occasion meet ,
By Jove , I’ll play the hunter for thy life
With all my force , pursuit , and policy .

Troilus and Cressida


I will not , uncle . I have forgot my father .
I know no touch of consanguinity ,
No kin , no love , no blood , no soul so near me
As the sweet Troilus . O you gods divine ,
Make Cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood
If ever she leave Troilus ! Time , force , and death
Do to this body what extremes you can ,
But the strong base and building of my love
Is as the very center of the Earth earth ,
Drawing all things to it . I’ll go in and weep —

Troilus and Cressida


And suddenly , where injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking , jostles roughly by
All time of pause , rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure , forcibly prevents
Our locked embrasures , strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own laboring breath .
We two , that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other , must poorly sell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one .
Injurious Time now with a robber’s haste
Crams his rich thiev’ry up , he knows not how .
As many farewells as be stars in heaven ,
With distinct breath and consigned kisses to them ,
He fumbles up into a loose adieu
And scants us with a single famished kiss ,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears .

Troilus and Cressida

Thou , trumpet , there’s my purse .

Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe .
Blow , villain , till thy spherèd bias cheek
Outswell the colic of puffed Aquilon .
Come , stretch thy chest , and let thy eyes spout blood .
Thou blowest for Hector .

Troilus and Cressida

Fie , fie upon her !
There’s language in her eye , her cheek , her lip ;
Nay , her foot speaks . Her wanton spirits look out
At every joint and motive of her body .
O , these encounterers , so glib of tongue ,
That give accosting welcome ere it comes
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
To every tickling reader ! Set them down
For sluttish spoils of opportunity
And daughters of the game .

Troilus and Cressida


Therefore Achilles . But whate’er , know this :
In the extremity of great and little ,
Valor and pride excel themselves in Hector ,
The one almost as infinite as all ,
The other blank as nothing . Weigh him well ,
And that which looks like pride is courtesy .
This Ajax is half made of Hector’s blood ,
In love whereof half Hector stays at home ;
Half heart , half hand , half Hector comes to seek
This blended knight , half Trojan and half Greek .

Troilus and Cressida


What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy ?

Troilus and Cressida

Why , then , will I no more . —
Thou art , great lord , my father’s sister’s son ,
A cousin-german to great Priam’s seed .
The obligation of our blood forbids
A gory emulation ’twixt us twain .
Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so
That thou couldst say This hand is Grecian all ,
And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg
All Greek , and this all Troy ; my mother’s blood
Runs on the dexter cheek , and this sinister
Bounds in my father’s , by Jove multipotent ,
Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member
Wherein my sword had not impressure made
Of our rank feud . But the just gods gainsay
That any drop thou borrowd’st from thy mother ,
My sacred aunt , should by my mortal sword
Be drained . Let me embrace thee , Ajax .
By him that thunders , thou hast lusty arms !
Hector would have them fall upon him thus .
Cousin , all honor to thee !

Troilus and Cressida

I must not believe you .
There they stand yet , and modestly I think
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
A drop of Grecian blood . The end crowns all ,
And that old common arbitrator , Time ,
Will one day end it .

Troilus and Cressida


Stand fair , I pray thee . Let me look on thee .

Troilus and Cressida


At Menelaus’ tent , most princely Troilus .
There Diomed doth feast with him tonight ,
Who neither looks upon the heaven nor Earth earth ,
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
On the fair Cressid .

Troilus and Cressida


I’ll heat his blood with Greekish wine tonight ,
Which with my scimitar I’ll cool tomorrow .
Patroclus , let us feast him to the height .

Troilus and Cressida

With too much blood and too little brain ,
these two may run mad ; but if with too much brain
and too little blood they do , I’ll be a curer of madmen .
Here’s Agamemnon , an honest fellow enough
and one that loves quails , but he has not so much
brain as earwax . And the goodly transformation
of Jupiter there , his brother , the bull — the primitive
statue and oblique memorial of cuckolds , a
thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain , hanging at his
brother’s leg — to what form but that he is should
wit larded with malice and malice forced with
wit turn him to ? To an ass were nothing ; he is both
ass and ox . To an ox were nothing ; he is both ox
and ass . To be a dog , a mule , a cat , a fitchew , a
toad , a lizard , an owl , a puttock , or a herring without
a roe , I would not care ; but to be Menelaus ! I
would conspire against destiny . Ask me not what I
would be , if I were not Thersites , for I care not to be
the louse of a lazar so I were not Menelaus .



Heyday ! Sprites and fires !

Troilus and Cressida


You look upon that sleeve ? Behold it well .
He loved me — O false wench ! — Give ’t me again .

Troilus and Cressida

Good night . I prithee , come . —

Troilus , farewell . One eye yet looks on thee ,
But with my heart the other eye doth see .
Ah , poor our sex ! This fault in us I find :
The error of our eye directs our mind .
What error leads must err . O , then conclude :
Minds swayed by eyes are full of turpitude .

Troilus and Cressida


This she ? No , this is Diomed’s Cressida .
If beauty have a soul , this is not she ;
If souls guide vows , if vows be sanctimonies ,
If sanctimony be the gods’ delight ,
If there be rule in unity itself ,
This is not she . O madness of discourse ,
That cause sets up with and against itself !
Bifold authority , where reason can revolt
Without perdition , and loss assume all reason
Without revolt . This is and is not Cressid .
Within my soul there doth conduce a fight
Of this strange nature , that a thing inseparate
Divides more wider than the sky and Earth earth ,
And yet the spacious breadth of this division
Admits no orifex for a point as subtle
As Ariachne’s broken woof to enter .
Instance , O instance , strong as Pluto’s gates ,
Cressid is mine , tied with the bonds of heaven ;
Instance , O instance , strong as heaven itself ,
The bonds of heaven are slipped , dissolved , and
loosed ,
And with another knot , five-finger-tied ,
The fractions of her faith , orts of her love ,
The fragments , scraps , the bits and greasy relics
Of her o’er-eaten faith are given to Diomed .

Troilus and Cressida


Here , sister , armed and bloody in intent .
Consort with me in loud and dear petition ;
Pursue we him on knees . For I have dreamt
Of bloody turbulence , and this whole night
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter .

Troilus and Cressida


Lay hold upon him , Priam ; hold him fast .
He is thy crutch . Now if thou loose thy stay ,
Thou on him leaning , and all Troy on thee ,
Fall all together .

Troilus and Cressida

O farewell , dear Hector .
Look how thou diest ! Look how thy eye turns pale !
Look how thy wounds do bleed at many vents !
Hark , how Troy roars , how Hecuba cries out ,
How poor Andromache shrills her dolor forth !
Behold , distraction , frenzy , and amazement ,
Like witless antics , one another meet ,
And all cry Hector ! Hector’s dead ! O , Hector !

Troilus and Cressida

Now they are clapper-clawing one another .
I’ll go look on . That dissembling abominable varlet ,
Diomed , has got that same scurvy doting foolish
young knave’s sleeve of Troy there in his helm .
I would fain see them meet , that that same young
Trojan ass that loves the whore there might send
that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve
back to the dissembling luxurious drab , of a sleeveless
errand . O’ th’ t’other side , the policy of those
crafty swearing rascals — that stale old mouse-eaten
dry cheese , Nestor , and that same dog-fox ,
Ulysses — is proved not worth a blackberry . They
set me up , in policy , that mongrel cur , Ajax , against
that dog of as bad a kind , Achilles . And now is the
cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles , and will
not arm today , whereupon the Grecians begin to
proclaim barbarism , and policy grows into an ill
opinion .



Soft ! Here comes sleeve and t’ other .

Troilus and Cressida


What art thou , Greek ? Art thou for Hector’s match ?
Art thou of blood and honor ?

Troilus and Cressida


O , courage , courage , princes ! Great Achilles
Is arming , weeping , cursing , vowing vengeance .
Patroclus’ wounds have roused his drowsy blood ,
Together with his mangled Myrmidons ,
That noseless , handless , hacked and chipped , come
to him ,
Crying on Hector . Ajax hath lost a friend
And foams at mouth , and he is armed and at it ,
Roaring for Troilus , who hath done today
Mad and fantastic execution ,
Engaging and redeeming of himself
With such a careless force and forceless care
As if that luck , in very spite of cunning ,
Bade him win all .

Troilus and Cressida


He is my prize . I will not look upon .

Troilus and Cressida


Come here about me , you my Myrmidons .
Mark what I say . Attend me where I wheel .
Strike not a stroke , but keep yourselves in breath ,
And , when I have the bloody Hector found ,
Empale him with your weapons round about .
In fellest manner execute your arms .
Follow me , sirs , and my proceedings eye .
It is decreed Hector the great must die .

Troilus and Cressida

The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at
it . Now , bull ! Now , dog ! Loo , Paris , loo ! Now , my
double-horned Spartan ! Loo , Paris , loo ! The bull
has the game . Ware horns , ho !

Troilus and Cressida


Most putrefied core , so fair without ,
Thy goodly armor thus hath cost thy life .
Now is my day’s work done . I’ll take my breath .
Rest , sword ; thou hast thy fill of blood and death .

Troilus and Cressida


Look , Hector , how the sun begins to set ,
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels .
Even with the vail and dark’ning of the sun
To close the day up , Hector’s life is done .

Twelfth Night


Stand you awhile aloof . — Cesario ,
Thou know’st no less but all . I have unclasped
To thee the book even of my secret soul .
Therefore , good youth , address thy gait unto her .
Be not denied access . Stand at her doors
And tell them , there thy fixèd foot shall grow
Till thou have audience .

Twelfth Night

I marvel your Ladyship takes delight in
such a barren rascal . I saw him put down the other
day with an ordinary fool that has no more brain
than a stone . Look you now , he’s out of his guard
already . Unless you laugh and minister occasion to
him , he is gagged . I protest I take these wise men
that crow so at these set kind of Fools no better than
the Fools’ zanies .

Twelfth Night

Go thou and seek the crowner and let him sit o’
my coz , for he’s in the third degree of drink : he’s
drowned . Go look after him .

Twelfth Night

He is but mad yet , madonna , and the Fool shall
look to the madman .

Twelfth Night

Have you any commission from your lord to
negotiate with my face ? You are now out of your
text . But we will draw the curtain and show you the
picture . Look you , sir , such a
one I was this present . Is ’t not well done ?

Twelfth Night

My lady’s a Cataian , we are politicians , Malvolio’s
a Peg-a-Ramsey , and Three merry men be
we . Am not I consanguineous ? Am I not of her
blood ? Tillyvally ! Lady ! There dwelt a man
in Babylon , lady , lady .

Twelfth Night

The devil a puritan that he is , or anything
constantly but a time-pleaser ; an affectioned ass
that cons state without book and utters it by great
swaths ; the best persuaded of himself , so crammed ,
as he thinks , with excellencies , that it is his grounds
of faith that all that look on him love him . And on
that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause
to work .

Twelfth Night

O , peace , now he’s deeply in . Look how
imagination blows him .

Twelfth Night


I may command where I adore ,
But silence , like a Lucrece knife ,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore ;
M . O . A . I . doth sway my life .

Twelfth Night

M . O . A . I . This simulation is not as the
former , and yet to crush this a little , it would bow
to me , for every one of these letters are in my name .
Soft , here follows prose .
If this fall into thy hand , revolve . In my
stars I am above thee , but be not afraid of greatness .
Some are born great , some achieve greatness , and
some have greatness thrust upon ’em . Thy fates open
their hands . Let thy blood and spirit embrace them .
And , to inure thyself to what thou art like to be , cast
thy humble slough and appear fresh . Be opposite with
a kinsman , surly with servants . Let thy tongue tang
arguments of state . Put thyself into the trick of singularity .
She thus advises thee that sighs for thee .
Remember who commended thy yellow stockings and
wished to see thee ever cross-gartered . I say , remember .
Go to , thou art made , if thou desir’st to be so . If
not , let me see thee a steward still , the fellow of
servants , and not worthy to touch Fortune’s fingers .
Farewell . She that would alter services with thee ,
The Fortunate-Unhappy .
Daylight and champian discovers not more ! This is
open . I will be proud , I will read politic authors , I
will baffle Sir Toby , I will wash off gross acquaintance ,
I will be point-devise the very man . I do not
now fool myself , to let imagination jade me ; for
every reason excites to this , that my lady loves me .
She did commend my yellow stockings of late , she
did praise my leg being cross-gartered , and in this
she manifests herself to my love and , with a kind of
injunction , drives me to these habits of her liking . I
thank my stars , I am happy . I will be strange , stout ,
in yellow stockings , and cross-gartered , even with
the swiftness of putting on . Jove and my stars be
praised ! Here is yet a postscript .
Thou canst not choose but know who I
am . If thou entertain’st my love , let it appear in thy
smiling ; thy smiles become thee well . Therefore in my
presence still smile , dear my sweet , I prithee .
Jove , I thank thee ! I will smile . I will do everything
that thou wilt have me .

Twelfth Night


O , what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip !
A murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid . Love’s night is
noon . —
Cesario , by the roses of the spring ,
By maidhood , honor , truth , and everything ,
I love thee so , that , maugre all thy pride ,
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide .
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause ,
For that I woo , thou therefore hast no cause ;
But rather reason thus with reason fetter :
Love sought is good , but given unsought is better .

Twelfth Night

She did show favor to the youth in your sight
only to exasperate you , to awake your dormouse
valor , to put fire in your heart and brimstone in
your liver . You should then have accosted her , and
with some excellent jests , fire-new from the mint ,
you should have banged the youth into dumbness .
This was looked for at your hand , and this was
balked . The double gilt of this opportunity you let
time wash off , and you are now sailed into the north
of my lady’s opinion , where you will hang like an
icicle on a Dutchman’s beard , unless you do redeem
it by some laudable attempt either of valor or
policy .

Twelfth Night

Never trust me , then . And by all means stir on
the youth to an answer . I think oxen and wainropes
cannot hale them together . For Andrew , if he were
opened and you find so much blood in his liver as
will clog the foot of a flea , I’ll eat the rest of th’
anatomy .

Twelfth Night

Look where the youngest wren of mine comes .

Twelfth Night


Th’ offense is not of such a bloody nature ,
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
Might well have given us bloody argument .
It might have since been answered in repaying
What we took from them , which , for traffic’s sake ,
Most of our city did . Only myself stood out ,
For which , if I be lapsèd in this place ,
I shall pay dear .

Twelfth Night

Sad , lady ? I could be sad . This does make
some obstruction in the blood , this cross-gartering ,
but what of that ? If it please the eye of one , it is
with me as the very true sonnet is : Please one , and
please all .

Twelfth Night

I’ll come to him . Good Maria , let
this fellow be looked to . Where’s my Cousin Toby ?
Let some of my people have a special care of him . I
would not have him miscarry for the half of my
dowry .

Twelfth Night

O ho , do you come near me now ? No worse
man than Sir Toby to look to me . This concurs
directly with the letter . She sends him on purpose
that I may appear stubborn to him , for she incites
me to that in the letter : Cast thy humble slough ,
says she . Be opposite with a kinsman , surly with
servants ; let thy tongue tang with arguments of
state ; put thyself into the trick of singularity , and
consequently sets down the manner how : as , a sad
face , a reverend carriage , a slow tongue , in the habit
of some Sir of note , and so forth . I have limed her ,
but it is Jove’s doing , and Jove make me thankful !
And when she went away now , Let this fellow be
looked to . Fellow ! Not Malvolio , nor after my
degree , but fellow . Why , everything adheres together ,
that no dram of a scruple , no scruple of a
scruple , no obstacle , no incredulous or unsafe
circumstance — what can be said ? Nothing that can
be can come between me and the full prospect of
my hopes . Well , Jove , not I , is the doer of this , and
he is to be thanked .

Twelfth Night

Fare thee well , and God have mercy upon
one of our souls . He may have mercy upon mine , but
my hope is better , and so look to thyself . Thy friend , as
thou usest him , and thy sworn enemy ,
Andrew Aguecheek .
If this letter move him not , his legs cannot . I’ll
give ’t him .

Twelfth Night

Now will not I deliver his letter , for the behavior
of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good
capacity and breeding ; his employment between
his lord and my niece confirms no less . Therefore ,
this letter , being so excellently ignorant , will breed
no terror in the youth . He will find it comes from a
clodpoll . But , sir , I will deliver his challenge by
word of mouth , set upon Aguecheek a notable
report of valor , and drive the gentleman ( as I know
his youth will aptly receive it ) into a most hideous
opinion of his rage , skill , fury , and impetuosity . This
will so fright them both that they will kill one
another by the look , like cockatrices .

Twelfth Night

That defense thou hast , betake thee to ’t . Of what
nature the wrongs are thou hast done him , I know
not , but thy intercepter , full of despite , bloody as
the hunter , attends thee at the orchard end . Dismount
thy tuck , be yare in thy preparation , for thy
assailant is quick , skillful , and deadly .

Twelfth Night

Nothing of that wonderful promise , to read
him by his form , as you are like to find him in the
proof of his valor . He is indeed , sir , the most skillful ,
bloody , and fatal opposite that you could possibly
have found in any part of Illyria . Will you walk
towards him ? I will make your peace with him if I
can .

Twelfth Night

He is as horribly conceited of
him , and pants and looks pale as if a bear were at his
heels .

Twelfth Night

I know of none ,
Nor know I you by voice or any feature .
I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying , vainness , babbling drunkenness ,
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood —

Twelfth Night

What , what ? Nay , then , I must have an ounce or
two of this malapert blood from you .

Twelfth Night


This is the air ; that is the glorious sun .
This pearl she gave me , I do feel ’t and see ’t .
And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus ,
Yet ’tis not madness . Where’s Antonio , then ?
I could not find him at the Elephant .
Yet there he was ; and there I found this credit ,
That he did range the town to seek me out .
His counsel now might do me golden service .
For though my soul disputes well with my sense
That this may be some error , but no madness ,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance , all discourse ,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
To any other trust but that I am mad —
Or else the lady’s mad . Yet if ’twere so ,
She could not sway her house , command her
followers ,
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
With such a smooth , discreet , and stable bearing
As I perceive she does . There’s something in ’t
That is deceivable . But here the lady comes .

Twelfth Night

Put your grace in your pocket , sir , for this once ,
and let your flesh and blood obey it .

Twelfth Night


Notable pirate , thou saltwater thief ,
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies
Whom thou , in terms so bloody and so dear ,
Hast made thine enemies ?

Twelfth Night

Has broke my head across , and has given Sir
Toby a bloody coxcomb too . For the love of God ,
your help ! I had rather than forty pound I were at
home .

Twelfth Night

If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt , you have hurt
me . I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb .



Here comes Sir Toby halting . You shall hear
more . But if he had not been in drink , he would
have tickled you othergates than he did .

Twelfth Night


Get him to bed , and let his hurt be looked to .

Twelfth Night


I am sorry , madam , I have hurt your kinsman ,
But , had it been the brother of my blood ,
I must have done no less with wit and safety .
You throw a strange regard upon me , and by that
I do perceive it hath offended you .
Pardon me , sweet one , even for the vows
We made each other but so late ago .

Twelfth Night


Do I stand there ? I never had a brother ,
Nor can there be that deity in my nature
Of here and everywhere . I had a sister ,
Whom the blind waves and surges have devoured .
Of charity , what kin are you to me ?
What countryman ? What name ? What parentage ?

Twelfth Night


Be not amazed ; right noble is his blood .
If this be so , as yet the glass seems true ,
I shall have share in this most happy wrack . —
Boy , thou hast said to me a thousand times
Thou never shouldst love woman like to me .

Twelfth Night

Look then to be well edified , when the Fool
delivers the madman . By the Lord ,
madam —